Inquisitor Nessa
by Respitini
Summary: "I'm not your murderer, lady. But from where I'm sitting, 500 dead shemlen sounds like a pretty f-ing good start." Nessa Ghilani, contemporary of the Hero of Ferelden and resident of the Denerim Alienage becomes the Inquisitor. City elf Inquisitor playthrough.
1. Prologue and Aftermath

Hi Dragon Age fandom! This is my first Dragon Age piece, but it's one I've been thinking about for a while. This is based on my headcanon: Kallian Tabris/Leliana, King Alistair helped with the Old God Baby, Sarcastic!FemHawke/Isabela, Hawke took the Mages' side, Bethany's still alive, but Anders isn't. All of the PCs are dual-wields.

Please note that the prologue is in the present tense on purpose. Please also note that I'm positively dreadful at maintaining chaptered stories, but so far this one feels like I'm playing the game myself. Let's hope it stays that way. Please enjoy!

Inquisitor Nessa: Prologue

I won't say life was wonderful after the Blight, but when the Hero of Ferelden calls your alienage home, relations with the shems are a bit more easy-going than they would be otherwise. Kallian (or "The Hero" as she's known outside the alienage) and I grew up together, of course. Well, she was a few years older than I, and – Okay. I knew her peripherally at best, but she gave my family and I her wedding money on the day the Arl's son came through, so we didn't have to find servant positions with the army at Ostagar. And then she rescued my uncle from the slavers who tried to convince us all that there was a plague of some sort in the alienage. And then there was that – Oh, right. Of course you know the story. That's why she's called the "Hero of Ferelden." Because she's a hero. Even if her girlfriend is a shemlen. A shemlen who, at this very moment, is about to cave my jaw in with her sizeable gauntlet. This, however, seems preferable to the dark-haired woman next to her with her sword at my throat.

"A bit more easy-going" is a funny thing for an alienage Elf. After the blight, Shianni was made "Bann of the Alienage," and was given real power to make some changes. That shop that my parents set up with Kallian's 10 silver? We moved it to the Market in 9:31. Did pretty well for ourselves, too, until the shems decided they'd had quite enough of that, and put the torch to it. That was in 9:37, when I was 22. The landlord was kind enough not to charge us for the damage. Kallian had long moved on, as her girlfriend had been made Left Hand of the Divine, and she wanted to roam Thedas looking for a cure to the Calling. With no Kallian around, Shianni's title became more and more ceremonial.

So, it was back to the alienage for us. The Chantry sisters, always looking for more converts among those of us with more angular features, provide a good deal of the coin that comes into the alienage by way of wages. I was hired on as a maidservant to Revered Mother Perpetua, and she brought me with her when she was promoted to Grand Cleric after the last one – E something, I think – finally keeled over. To ask the other servants, you'd think I'd been given the keys to the Golden City. Honestly, I really don't care if it's a Grand Cleric's or a lay sister's ass you're wiping, they all stink. But there I was in 9:40, Maidservant to the Grand Cleric, setting out on the North Road to attend the Divine Conclave, riding clear across Ferelden along the Waking Sea, through bandits, the occasional Darkspawn, and Mages and Templars trying to kill each other. Now, I've always been pretty handy with a knife – you kind of have to be if you grow up in the Denerim Alienage – but I wasn't sure I'd have wanted to be taking on Hurlocks or Templars if it came down to it. Good thing the archers we'd hired kept things uneventful.

Haven was an absolute madhouse when we got there. Sisters and mothers and clerics of all manners of grandeur were being shuffled about from house to house, with the bulk of the servants and other assorted knife-ears staying in tents. Tents. In the Frostback fucking Mountains. Grand Clerics, however, had room for their servants indoors, so I was toasty warm and well fed. Not a bad situation for a knife-ear who wiped ass for a living.

The first day of the Conclave was when it all went down. I noticed Perpetua had left her prayer book in her chambers while I was tidying up, so I ran up the mountain to the temple to give it to her. I knew the conclave itself was to be held in the inner sanctum where Kallian had found Andraste's ashes ten years ago. But the temple is huge, so I wandered around looking for whatever room they'd assigned Perpetua for praying or whatever. The next thing I know, there was this crazy dream where I was being chased by spiders, and this glowing woman reached her hand out to me to save me from them. And now my hand is on fire, and I'm either going to get my face bashed in by the Left Hand of the Divine, or have my throat slit by her rather handsome partner. Either way, I'm not leaving this world without getting one last dig at the shems.

"I don't know what Kallian's told you, sister, but not all of us knife-ears like it rough."

Chapter One: The Aftermath

That smack did come, although it wasn't hard enough to do any real damage. Stung like a son of a bitch, though.

"Just where do you get off speaking to the Left Hand of the Divine that way, you insolent bitch?" Leliana asked. "And don't you dare talk about the Hero of Ferelden."

"Maybe if Kallian took some time to visit Val Royeaux more often, you'd learn to relax a little, sister." I replied, earning myself another smack on the face and a sword that began to draw a trickle of blood along my throat.

"One more joke, murderer," the dark-haired woman breathed into my ear. "Tell us one more joke, please. We can write a rather convincing confession on your behalf about how you couldn't live with what you've done."

It was right there that I began to realize exactly how serious they were. First of all, Leliana was far too important a person to involve herself in a little sport knife-ear hunting. Plus, with her relationship with Kallian, that's probably not something she'd do, anyway. And this lady with the sword didn't seem the type to joke about anything. So, apparently, I was being accused of murder. And with this kind of interrogation, I could also assume that the murder in question was pretty high profile.

"I didn't kill anyone," I said, adding a note of gravity to my tone.

"Then explain this," the dark-haired woman said, grabbing my shackled left hand.

"I can't."

"The Conclave is destroyed," she continued. "Everyone is dead. Except for you. You were the only one to survive the blast. If you value your pathetic life, elf, I suggest you start talking."

Well now. The entire hierarchy of the Chantry was destroyed and some elven servant is the only survivor? Sword-lady was starting to sound like my best option. I've heard being stoned to death is pretty painful.

"I'm not your murderer, lady," I quipped. "But from where I'm sitting, 500 dead shemlen sounds like a pretty fucking good start."

Sword-lady let out a primal scream and drew her sword-arm back, while I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer to any deity that might be listening at the moment.

"Cassandra, no!" Leliana shouted, and that final blow never came. "We need her, remember? Solas thinks she may be the answer to the breach."

"You're right," Cassandra answered, pulling me up by my shackles. "Come. We shall see if Solas is right about you."

A door opened, and light flooded into the room, hurting my eyes. I must have been out for quite a while, because my legs were nearly too weak to support me. Leliana took off for the "Forward Camp," while Cassandra led me through what could very well have been the stoning mob I'd worried about.

"They need someone to blame," Cassandra said as the crowd grew louder. "But, for what it's worth, I believe you. There will be a trial. More than that, I cannot say. But I must apologize for my actions earlier. Justinia was a- a wonderful woman, and we have lost her to treachery."

"I didn't know that Good Guard and Bad Guard could be the same person," I muttered under my breath. Cassandra let out a frustrated groan.

"But I might kill you anyway if you can't learn to keep your mouth shut."

We were a few hundred yards past the mob when she removed the shackles from my wrists. Almost immediately the green glowing thing on my hand flared up, and I cried out in pain.

"Andraste's tits! If the shackles were preventing that, maybe you could just leave them on." Cassandra looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw some pity in her eyes.

"That mark on your hand has been spreading for the last three days, as has the breach. We are headed to the Forward Camp. There is an elven apostate there, Solas, who believes this mark on your hand and the breach may be related, and that the mark may be the key to closing the breach entirely."

"The breach?" I asked. Cassandra pointed to the sky. It looked like a cloud formation gone very, very wrong. And green. The same glowy algae green as the mark on my hand. Perhaps Solas was on to something. I gulped nearly audibly.

"I'm guessing that's not just a pretty sunset."

"It is a hole in the veil. Demons are falling from rifts caused by this hole all over Ferelden and Orlais."

"I don't have much of a choice in helping here, do I?" I asked.

"I would think that even for you, a trial would be preferable to being mauled to death by a demon," Cassandra replied. And for the first time in years, there didn't seem to be an appropriate one-liner response.

We were crossing a bridge over a frozen river when I got my chance to see if this was true. There was an explosion. The bridge collapsed underneath us, and we tumbled onto the river. When I looked up I saw a demon – a kind I would later know as a Terror Demon. And I'll be damned if it wasn't doing its job that afternoon. Cassandra, of course, was right on top of things. I bobbed and weaved for a bit until Cassandra had the demon's full attention, and then looked to make my escape. I thought for a split second about trying to escape the whole situation, but running from every arm of Andrastrian martial service while dodging demons falling from the sky sounded like a bad idea, so I simply tried to stay out of the way of this demon, and hope Cassandra and her sword could take care of things.

Now, I've never been much of a Chantry type, but Divine Providence or no, what happened next was an inexplicable bit of good fortune. There had been a crate on the bridge, and this crate had cracked open. It was full of weapons – swords, shields, bows and arrows – hell, there was even a staff in there. I picked up two knives and tentatively walked towards the demon. It was bigger up close, and thinner. It was going to be hard to find a good stabbing point. I, on the other hand, was rather squishy, wearing nothing resembling armor but my thick winter coat and a smart mouth. Stabbing points all over the place. Or, from the demon's perspective, places to claw.

I dodged one swipe by the demon, rolling out of the way. Its ankle was free, and I got a good slice into what I hoped was a tendon. That leg buckled for a moment, and that gave Cassandra a chance to aim for its head while I jumped out of the way. She managed to get a good chunk of the arm it put up as a defensive move, and I took a swipe at what looked like its spine. The demon then whipped around towards me, flailing with its impossibly long talons. At one point it took a nick out of my coat right by my neck. But the demon's singlemindedness was its undoing, as Cassandra took another shot at decapitation, and this time, she didn't miss. Neither did the demon slime, which managed to splatter all over my clothes. I barely noticed, however. The creature was dead, and I wasn't, and that's what was important.

Cassandra, of course, was a veteran of many such fights, and wasn't really fazed by it all. Which is probably why she pointed her sword right at my heart about thirty seconds after lopping the demon's head off.

"Drop your weapons. Now."

She may or may not have seen my contributions to that little scuffle, but at that moment, it didn't matter. I put the knives down on the ice and held my hands up in surrender, hoping that she wouldn't kill me just for the fun of it.

"Yes. Of course," I said. "Putting the weapons down."

She took a moment, looked at me, and then surprised the hell out of me with her moment of rationality.

"No, you need them. You should be able to defend yourself in case we run into more demons."

"Wait – seriously?" I asked. "I mean, thank you. I'm not going anywhere, believe me."

"I know," she replied. "You did come willingly, mostly. And you seem like you know what you're doing. Just – be careful. We may need that mark on your hand, after all. And it probably will not work if you're dead."

I stared at her blankly for a moment, and she chuckled.

"You're not the only one who can make a joke, Nessa Ghilani."


	2. That Means Demons

Chapter Two: That Means Demons

It seemed as though demons were everywhere during that first part of the trek to the Forward Camp. We'd take down one, and two more would arrive in its wake. The wispy flying ones were the worst – they'd shoot these energy sapping bursts of something, and the only thing I could do to fight them was to rush them head on and take a swing, which was only slightly more effective than throwing rocks at them (which I actually wound up doing a couple of times.) I'd picked up some elfroot along the way, and Cassandra had a few healing draughts that she shared with me, but it was slow going, at best.

After we finished our trek over the frozen river, we scaled the bank, and I heard fighting ahead. This time there were multiple demons, and what sounded like a couple of soldiers, as well as at least one mage. Cassandra, of course, hurried right on up to help them, while I followed warily behind.

That's always been a thing with me. As things started to get bad in the Shemlen market square, I wound up picking up a few side jobs to bring a bit of gold into the house. These jobs weren't always exactly legal, and – oh, who am I kidding? I ran lyrium from suppliers to dealers. Gorim was our main contact – every time you'd hear him say "Fine Dwarven Crafts," you knew he'd just gotten a new supply in from Old Tegrin. We'd go over to his stand (seriously, though. If you'd ever seen the crap he has at that stand, you'd know right away it's a front) and he'd have an "order" stuffed into a breastplate or a gauntlet or something. Anyway, those jobs didn't always go over well. Sometimes we'd get jumped for our goods; sometimes the dealer wouldn't have the gold, etc. So I learned to be careful – never head right into a back alley, always poke your head around the corner and listen. And I learned how to handle myself in a scrap. But most importantly, I learned how to get into only as many scraps as I had to.

So when I could hear the fighting from a couple hundred yards away, I knew I didn't want to go rushing in, armed or no. That's what people like Cassandra are for. I hid behind half a blown-out wall, watching the scene unfold. There were two soldiers, or guardsmen or something taking whacks at the wispy ones with the energy-sapping bombs. There was a dwarf with the baddest crossbow I'd ever seen in my life taking chunks out of demons here and there. There was this mage who looked like he slept in a Vhenadahl every night; he was that Elfy. And there were no fewer than five shades, a terror demon, and three wispy things.

The dwarf was firing shot after shot, turning some shades into pincushions, but he wasn't watching his flanks, and had one on either side of him before he noticed. I came up behind one of them as quietly as I could, then jabbed both blades into its back, between where its shoulder blades would be. He got the other one just fine with a bolt between the eyes. It took three harrowing minutes, but soon they were all gone. The Elfy fellow then grabbed my left wrist and pointed the glowing thing on my hand toward the green crystally thing hanging about 20 feet in the air.

"Quickly!" he shouted. "Before more come through!"

I wasn't sure quite what to do, at first. Then I guess I pushed out with the glowing mark, and there was a jet of green light that went into the crystally thing and blew it up. I'd say it was magic, but it wasn't – at least not the way I'd been taught magic was. There was this tingling in my hand, and then it was almost as if the world stopped and it was just me and the rift. It left a bit of smoldering something that dropped to the ground, which Elfy Mc Elf picked up and put into his pack.

"Well, I guess I'm some use to you people after all," I said, not wanting to crow, but also no longer willing to play the prisoner act.

"Indeed," Elf-Guy said. "It seems that you are the key to our salvation." I couldn't help myself from laughing so hard that I snorted, which amused the dwarf to no end.

"She looks thrilled to hear that, Chuckles," he said, shaking his head. Then he extended his hand to me. "Varric Tethras is the name. This is Bianca," he continued, holding up his crossbow. "Thanks for covering my ass out there."

"No problem. We've been fighting demons all damn afternoon. I'm Nessa. No name for the blades or this glowy thing on my hand, though."

"You should probably work on that," Varric replied. "It will make explanations so much easier. 'What's that on your hand?' 'Oh, that? That's Herbie.' End of discussion."

"Herbie's not a very good name. A glowy thing like this needs something more majestic. Perhaps –"

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," Elf-Guy piped up. "And that mark on your hand is –"

"That's nice," I replied. "Now, I think 'Madame du Greenlight' gives the mark the grandeur it deserves."

"You think it's Orlesian?" Varric asked.

"As bright and showy as this thing is? What else could it be?"

Cassandra rather conspicuously cleared her throat and nodded towards Solas, who was looking a bit put-out.

"Yes, well," Solas said. "Regardless of its name, I believe that mark on your hand will, given enough power, be able to close the Breach. Perhaps we should head to the forward camp to let the others know."

"Oh, I'm sure that can wait, Solas," Cassandra said. "Sister Nightingale certainly has nothing else to do right now than wait for us to finish being entertained by Varric Tethras's mighty wit."

"Oh, Seeker," Varric said. "You know full well that flattery will get you everywhere. Let's go."

"Where are _you_ going?" Cassandra asked. "Your job here is finished, dwarf. You are free to go, and rather encouraged to do so."

"Oh, come on, Seeker. Have you been in the valley lately? You need me. Your soldiers aren't in control anymore."

Cassandra grunted, shook her head, and headed off toward the forward camp.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Varric asked.

The forward camp was on an elevated section of the road we'd been following, blocked off by a door. On our side of the door, of course, was another fade rift. This one caught me by surprise, and I was just about in the middle of things by the time I realized I was surrounded by demons. It's amazing how quickly something like demons falling from the sky becomes old hat. But I managed to wound one, which bought me enough time to slip off into the shadows. And it was there I had a thought: maybe if I get the rift closed, the demons will just die or something, and we won't have to risk fighting them. So I looked at the rift, pointed my hand at it, and imagined I was pushing that green light toward the center of it. At first it felt like I was on to something. The mark managed to connect with something inside the rift, just like when I'd closed the other one. But when it exploded, it didn't close. Rather, it shook the place, and the demons themselves looked like they'd been punched in the gut - one of them seemed to have keeled over, too. My little experiment made quicker work of the demons for the rest of them, and I was just about to close up the rift, when five more demons tumbled out of it.

"Well, shit," I mumbled, which gave Varric a chuckle.

"You'll be just fine. Do that thing with the rift again - that should slow them down."

It took me a try or two, thanks to some obnoxious thing that actually shot ice at me, but I managed to slam the rift again. Of course, all the bobbing and weaving I did to avoid the ice-throwing demon and still get a good lock on the rift meant I didn't see a terror demon bounce out of the ground and right on top of me. He got a good jolt from the rift, but wasn't too hurt to take a chunk of flesh out of my arm with one of his talons. I howled in pain, and Cassandra came running right for me to fight the green spindly thing off. Varric threw me a healing draught, which got me back in the game to some degree, but mostly I tried to stay out of the way until it was time to close the rift. After the second wave of demons was dispatched, the rift closed just like they're supposed to.

"You're getting to be quite proficient at that," Solas said as I collapsed to the ground, clutching my injured arm. I simply stared at him blankly.

"I meant that as a compliment," he persisted. "I don't see why you need to be so disagreeable about things. If we are to seal these rifts or that Breach," he continued, "there should be at least some measure of collegiality between us."

"Fine," I sighed. "I'm Nessa, and this is Madame du Greenlight. The shoulder that was nearly taken off by a demon doesn't have a name."

"A pleasure," Solas replied.

"Good, so now what? There's a big hole in the sky that needs fixing, the Fade is shitting out demons, and Madame du Greenlight here is the only one who can fix it, right?"

Cassandra grunted loudly and pushed us forward.

"Enough," she said, walking between the three of us. Then she told the soldiers guarding the gate (who did fuck all to help us with those demons, I might add) to open the gate and let us through.

We made it to Leliana, who was just about to introduce me to a man wearing a Chantry tunic (who knew they even made those for men?), when that man ordered Cassandra to take me to Val Royeaux for execution. And if I didn't know I was safe before, I knew I was safe then. Varric and I couldn't help snickering as she ripped into that poor guy for a good five minutes reminding him of his place in the Chantry, the mission, and life itself. I took a moment to look at the Breach in the sky. There were really no words to describe such a thing except that it looked like the end of the world. Maybe the world needed ending. Maybe this is the Maker's way of telling the Shems that they screwed the whole thing up so badly that it was time to scrap what was left and try again. I doubt there were many Elves in many Alienages who would disagree with that line of thinking. But just as I was thinking this all might be for the best, Madame du Greenlight flared up something awful, and I sank to my knees in pain.

"How do you think we should proceed?" Cassandra asked me as I struggled back to my feet.

"Excuse me? Were we talking about something?" I asked in return. "I wasn't really paying attention."

Cassandra, already agitated by the man who wanted her to run me to Orlais, looked at me as if she really was going to see if they could use my hand to close the Breach without it being attached to my body. Leliana put a hand on her shoulder and answered for her.

"We are trying to get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes," she said. "Or what's left of it. That is where the Breach is, and that is where the first, and largest, of the fade rifts sits. The Chancellor and I are afraid that a direct approach would have us all slaughtered by demons, and we believe a mountain pass would be a safer route. Cassandra is worried that going through the mountains will leave you stranded, like it did an earlier group of soldiers, who may not have survived the trip. She believes a frontal assault is our only hope. What do you think we should do?"

I laughed out loud. "Seriously? The Left Hand of the Divine and Fifth Blight hero, a Chantry Seeker, half a dozen soldiers, this shouty guy over here with the pencils, and you're asking some knife-ear who wipes a Grand Cleric's ass which way to go? You folks are in trouble if that's your decision-making process."

"Be that as it may," Leliana answered, unfazed by my observation, "you are the one we need to get to the Temple. Without you there, we have no hope at all."

"Okay, fine," I huffed. Then I turned to Varric.

"Hey, you got a copper?"

Varric snorted. "No copper, but I do have a silver. Here you go."

I tossed the coin into the air, caught it, and flipped it over on my wrist, where the coin lay sword-side-up.

"Over the mountain," I said, pocketing the silver.

"That easy?" Cassandra huffed. "You flip a coin and your decision's made? Good men and women may die down in that valley, and you would leave their fate to a flip of the coin? I know you dislike humans, probably for good reasons, but this? This is just callous."

"Anymore callous than leaving a serious military decision in the hands of someone unqualified to make it?" I asked, worked up into my own snit. "You want me to make this decision, clearing your own conscience of any consequences, and then laying the outcome on my head? I don't think so."

Cassandra sighed, had some words with the Chancellor, and we were off on the mountain path. Once Cassandra and Solas had gotten far enough ahead, Varric nudged me.

"You were going to pick this path anyway, weren't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I admitted. "That was pretty much for show. I just didn't want to get blamed if it all goes tits up. Besides, rushing headlong into a battle never seemed like the smartest course of action, you know?"

"I getcha," he replied. "Now give me that silver back."

The trip over the mountain ridge wasn't terribly eventful, except that by this point I'd been in the Frostbacks a little under a week, and my feet had still not gotten used to the cold. A trip to Val Royeaux, while it certainly would've meant death by hanging (at best), would at least have had me go out with warm tootsies. But the cold rocks led us to cold, slippery ladders that ran 50 or 60 breezy feet up from the path, which was already a few hundred feet up from the valley. If ever there were a time not to have a fear of heights, this was it. The demons had either the courtesy or the good sense not to attack us on the ladders, but by the time we got into the mining complex, they were waiting for us. No rifts, but two wisps and three or four shades came at us as we made our way from one side of the tunnel to the other. We nearly tripped over three dead Shems as we were leaving the tunnel, but as Cassandra and Varric mentioned that they were part of the company we were trying to save, I let them get a bit ahead of me before ransacking their bodies for a few silver and a couple of pieces of sentimental jewelry.

Climbing back down the mountain is where we ran into another rift. The scouts who were there fighting must have at least gotten some whacks in, because there were only four demons to finish off before I could seal it up.

"Lady Cassandra!" one of the scouts called out.

"Lieutenant," Cassandra called back. "I am glad to see you still live."

"Same here, Seeker," the Lieutenant replied. "Those demons had us pinned back – they took more than a few of us. I don't know how you did it, but closing that rift probably saved our lives."

"I did not close the rift," Cassandra said, gesturing in my direction. "It was the Prisoner. She is the one who saved you."

The Lieutenant walked over toward me with a purposeful demeanor that had my hands get twitchy looking for my knives. But then she stopped, saluted, and bowed at the waist.

"I thank you, Mistress," she said. "You've saved many lives here today. May Andraste guide you."

It's tough when you're used to always having a quip at your disposal to be left completely taken unawares like that. But "have a Shem salute me and thank me for her life" just wasn't a possibility I'd ever planned for. So I was left with mumbling a half-hearted "you're welcome," wished them well, and followed Cassandra down towards the Temple.

The temple itself was pretty much gone. There was the occasional wall that was only half crumbled, and a few items here and there that looked salvageable. But mostly it was a field of bodies burnt to a crisp, one of which had somehow used the person's fat to create a candle effect. I turned my nose up and quickly walked past that horror show.

On the other end of that was Leliana, who'd brought with her a grip of archers, both human and elven. I made a noise of surprise at this, and Cassandra shot me one of the more obnoxiously smug smirks I'd ever seen.

"There it is," Solas said, pointing far up into the sky while we had a moment to pause. "The Breach."

"Think you can levitate me up there?" I asked. "That's a hell of a long way up." Solas chuckled, which was refreshingly unexpected.

"No need. If you look instead at the rift in front of us, you will see that it is larger than any we have faced so far. It was also the first to appear. If you seal it, you may seal the Breach itself."

"Seems easy enough," I said. "No demons pouring out of this one. "Let's get down there, and maybe they'll get me to Val Royeaux to have my head lopped off in time for the Wintersend festival. Can't beat a good knife-ear beheading for entertainment value."

We began the descent toward what must have been the foundation of the temple, when we started to see red stones – crystals of some sort – jutting out of the ground.

"Shit," Varric swore. "Seeker, do you know what this is? Red Lyrium. It's evil, I tell you. Evil. Don't touch it, don't go near it, hell, don't even look at it that long."

"Noted," I said. "Red rocks are evil."

"I'm not kidding," Varric replied. "This stuff turned the Knight Commander of Kirkwall into a statue. It drove my brother crazy, and furniture and shit was flying all over his house. Evil."

That got my attention, and I took his advice on the matter. To be honest, those stones were plenty creepy on their own without Varric's horror story.

We'd just about made it to the bottom when one of the deepest voices I'd ever heard boomed from the heavens.

"Keep the sacrifice still."

That was followed by an older Orlesian woman who cried out.

"Someone, help me!"

"That's Divine Justinia!" Cassandra shouted. Then there was another voice. Mine.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Voice-me asked.

"And that's your voice!" Cassandra exclaimed. "Justinia called out to you, but –"

That's when the voices turned into full-fledged visions. The deep voiced figure looked to be about eight feet of the ugliest constructed person-shaped-thing I'd ever seen. And Divine Justinia was suspended by her arms in midair, thrashing, trying to escape.

"Run while you can," vision-Justinia called out to me. "Warn them!"

The next thing I remember hearing was "Slay the elf," and mercifully that's when the vision cut out, leaving my slaying for another day.

"You were there!" Cassandra said. "Who was attacking? Who held the Most Holy prisoner?"

"I've already told you, I don't know. If I knew that, do you think we'd be here?"

"No, I –" And before she could finish her thought, I dropped to my knees as Madame du Greenlight flared up something horrible. Solas walked over to us, his face grim.

"I fear this rift has not properly sealed. The Prisoner must open it, and then she may seal it properly. Although I shudder to think what manner of being a rift this size will attract from the other side."

"That means demons!" Cassandra shouted. "Stand ready!"

Cassandra and Leliana were a blur of martial activity, as archers and swordsmen hustled to get into place. Varric stood next to me, while Solas positioned himself on the other side of the temple ruin.

"You ready for this?" Varric asked me.

I shook my head. "Not even close."

"Good," he replied. "The ones that feel ready for something like this are the ones who wind up dying. Don't die, kid. I like you."

The first honest smile I'd had in years blossomed on my face as I returned the sentiment.

"Don't you die, either, Varric"

Cassandra gave the signal, and I pushed into the rift with Madame du Greenlight. The good news is that only one demon tumbled out once it was opened. The bad news is that this thing was huge, armored with thick scales, and holding these ridiculous lightning whips that could mess up half our people in one blow. I could've sworn I heard it laugh when it landed, which really pissed me off. I snuck off into the shadows while Cassandra and some of the soldiers started to whack away at its knees – that's how big this thing was. Arrows were flying down from above, but not a one of them stuck, so I wound up dodging those, too. I finally saw an opening, but all my knife did was clank into the armor. Tried again – same thing. Meanwhile, Cassandra and the other folks in front were taking a heavy beating. Solas was doing his best to freeze the beast, but that just seemed to annoy it.

I saw the rift itself crackling and shifting, and my hand started to flare up, which reminded me of one trick I still had up my sleeve. I snuck back around to the front, took a position beside Solas, who put up a barrier around me, and tried to slam the rift, to see if that would hurt a demon this size. It did. I could see some of the arrows begin to stick, and the soldiers up front started to draw a little blood. I rushed around back of it to try to take a chunk out of its ankle, but I wasn't anywhere near careful enough, and I got smacked halfway across the temple by one of the lightning whips.

"Fuck!" I yelled, and grabbed one of the healing draughts. Cassandra seemed to be in pretty bad shape, too, so I tossed her one. I got to my destination behind the demon and got one good whack in before it stopped staggering. Once again, my blades were useless. I looked up at the rift and tried to connect, but it was kind of an amorphous blob at that point, so Madame du Greenlight had nothing to hold on to. But besides staggering the big demon, my slamming the rift did one thing – three shades had fallen from the sky and were attacking Solas. Gingerly, I stepped into the shadows and came up behind the one to his left, sinking my blades into its back and ripping downward. Solas got a good shot in with his staff on the one in front of him, but he took a claw to the face from the one to the right, and fell to the ground. I leapt over Solas (well, really I sprung off of his back) and onto the shade, getting some good slices into its face. Solas got to his feet, slammed his staff to the ground, and both shades hit the deck, giving us time to dispatch our opponents.

I pumped my fist in victory, but that was short-lived, as I saw Varric dealing with a couple of shades of his own. One of the soldiers was helping him, though, so I let that be. Our folks in the thick of it with the big demon were getting slaughtered, and the arrows were providing little cover. I looked at the rift and it was crystalline again. Here was our chance. I snuck underneath it, locked on, and began to push. But before I could really do any damage, I felt a power-sapping bomb hit me, which broke my concentration. I looked over, and there was one of those wispy things aiming for another shot at me.

"Shit!" I yelled. "Solas, take care of that for me. I've got to hit this rift." And without even a questioning word, he distracted it long enough for me to get a good rift-slam in. I ran back towards the big demon, stepping over one poor Shem who didn't make it. Then I saw Cassandra take a whip across the face, which knocked her to the ground, unconscious. I yelled out for her, and ran over, grabbing her by the collar of her armor and dragging her into the shadows.

"Cassandra! Cassandra!" I said, smacking her face lightly. She was breathing, but only barely coming around to consciousness. "Wake up. I've got you – here." I poured our second-to-last healing draught down her throat and sat with her until it took effect.

"Thank you, Ghilani," she said, rising to her feet. "Where are my weapons?"

"They were knocked out of your hands when you were injured. Let me get them for you." I tiptoed across over to where they lay, next to another fallen soldier, and dragged them back over to Cassandra. I would have to find out one day how she could wield such heavy equipment so easily.

"Are you sure you're able to get back in there?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm fine now, thanks to you. Go. There's still a battle to be won."

I let Cassandra run back into the fray, and took a moment longer in the shadows to catch my breath. The rift was ready for another hit, and the demon was struggling to stay on its feet, so I slammed the rift again, and the demon crumpled to the ground, dead, or whatever passes for dead with a demon. That left the rift ready to close, and I began to do so. But this rift, because it was so large, and possibly because it was the first of them, slammed shut with a force than knocked me ass over tits. I saw a green light that shot up into the sky towards the Breach, heard a loud cheer, and then everything went dark.


	3. The What of Who?

Chapter Three: The What of Who?

Waking up in strange places was beginning to become a habit. At least this time I was in a bed, and not chained to the floor. Wait – not chained to the floor. Did this mean I was no longer a suspect? It was starting to seem that way. The cabin they had me in was nice; it looked to be one of the ones the clerics had shared before the Conclave, but with only one bed. I sat up gingerly, hungry as hell, when a young elf who'd just walked in squeaked and dropped what she was carrying.

"I didn't know you were awake, I swear," she said, timid as a Chantry mouse.

"It's alright," I replied. "What's your name, _lethallan_?"

"I – my name is not important, my lady," she replied, sinking to her knees and bowing to me. "I am but a humble servant, who asks your forgiveness, and your blessing."

I chuckled a little, until I realize she was serious.

"Get up and close the door," I told her, and she complied immediately. I sat up in the bed and made room for her, and told her to sit next to me.

"My name is Nessa," I said. "I am – or at least I was – the Grand Cleric of Denerim's maid. I am certainly no one to be afraid of. Now, what's your name?"

"My name is Melora, my lady," she said, her voice shaking a little less. "I came from the Chantry in Gwaren, where I served Mother Beatrix, the Maker bless her soul."

"And your parents, are they still in Gwaren, or did they come up here with you?"

"Oh, I have no parents, my lady. I was raised in the Chantry from the time I was little." I'd seen a few stories like that during my time at the Denerim Chantry, and they were never happy ones. So I put my arms around her and gave her a tight hug.

"I hope they treated you well. Now, what is all this nonsense about calling some knife-eared Chantry maid "My Lady?"

"It's what they're saying out there. They say you've saved us all; that Blessed Andraste Herself sent you to us to save us from the Breach."

"Wait," I asked. "The Shems, too?"

Melora giggled, which I was glad to hear. "Yes, the Shems, too. They call you the Herald of Andraste." I looked at her and began to giggle, too. Then we both began to laugh ourselves silly.

"So I'm going to go out there, and all these Shems are going to start bowing to me or something?"

"Oh yes. They're all so grateful to you for saving us."

I snorted one last laugh, this time a bit more sarcastically. "Look, Melora. I didn't save anyone. This silly green thing on my hand did. Now, if a bunch of Shems want to bow to me, that's just fine. You, however, will do no such thing, do you hear me? And no more of this "My Lady" or "Herald of Andraste" nonsense. My name is Nessa. Nessa Ghilani. Let the other elves know that if I hear any of them call me anything else, I'm going to bring Andraste Herself down here to scold them."

This brought a smile to Melora's face. "I'll do that, Nessa," she said. "Oh, and I'm supposed to let you know that Seeker Cassandra wants to see you right away in the Chantry." She gave me a hug and saw herself out of my cabin. I stood up and looked around, more than a bit bemused. There was a crowd assembled outside my door, very much like the one that greeted me on my way out of the prison. I straightened up as best I could, put a severe look on my face, and walked out of the cabin with my head held higher than it had ever been. And, just as Melora said, the Shems either saluted me or bowed to me as I passed. I pressed my luck and tried imitating the waves I'd seen Queen Anora give as she walked through Denerim with her attendants – the Shems ate it up. I actually heard one of them say that my waving at her was a sign that the Maker Himself had blessed her. There were many whispers of "That's her!" "That's the Herald!" "Andraste sent her to save us!" I managed to maintain a straight face until I was just about at the Chantry doors, when I chuckled just a bit and shook my head before continuing on in.

But once inside the Chantry, all of that braggadocio left quickly. The candles the Chantry uses to light its temples' dark halls have a particular smell, and once that hit my nose, I was the Grand Cleric's knife-ear maid all over again. I could clearly hear Cassandra and the High Chancellor debate my fate from a room at the back of the hall, the one where the Revered Mothers and, when she's around, the Grand Cleric prepare themselves for worship. By the time I got to the door, all I could do was open it slowly and peek my head inside. Cassandra brusquely waved me in, before I heard the High Chancellor call for me to be chained and taken away. It wouldn't be the first time that happened to an elf.

"Disregard that," Cassandra said to the soldiers guarding the door. "And leave us."

By this point, I had had just about enough. I'd woken up in chains, for no reason. I'd been violently interrogated, for no reason. I'd been made to fight demons and Maker knows what else. I stopped the Breach from growing, which nearly cost me my life. Now I have a village full of Shems bowing to me, and this clown still wants to arrest me?

"Would you people just make up your fucking minds?" I asked, getting right up into the Chancellor's face. "I've got a village full of Shems out there who think I'm the second coming of Andraste, I've got two more Shems in here who think I'm somehow going to save the world, and you think I'm a damned murderer. Lock me up already, or get out of my face."

The Chancellor slapped me hard across my cheek. "You mouthy, knife-eared bitch," he said. "Don't you dare talk to the Grand Chancellor that way, or I'll have you in irons faster than you can pick a pocket."

I stood there, stone-faced, looking him right in the eyes. That was hardly the first time a Shem had slapped me, and I had to make sure he knew I wasn't someone to be pushed around. To my great surprise, Leliana jumped to my defense nearly immediately, pulling me out of the way, so she could berate him for calling me that.

I was dumbfounded. Generally, even the "nice Shems" would look away when someone in a position of power reminded us of our place. But as they continued to argue, it was becoming more and more clear that Chancellor Roderick had absolutely nothing to say about anything in that room, and that Madame du Greenlight was going to be the one to save us all.

And then Cassandra went off the rails completely.

"The Maker sent her to us in our hour of need."

"Sweet Andraste's tits," I exclaimed. "You really think I'm your savior; that this is all part of some grand plan by the Maker?"

"I don't know who you are or how you came to us," Cassandra answered. "But even you must see that you are exactly what we needed when we needed it."

Unfortunately for Roderick's sake, he had no idea when to shut up. He'd just about opened his mouth to rebut Cassandra's assertion when she slammed a book down nearly onto his fingers.

" _You know_ what this is, Chancellor," she said. "This is Divine Justinia's writ granting her Left and Right Hands the authority to act; to bring order to the chaos. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn."

"With no Chantry support," Roderick said, "how can you –"

"Anyone in the Chantry whose opinion mattered is dead," Cassandra interrupted, which seemed to give Roderick the clue he was missing. He turned on his heel and left, not even bothering to look back. Leliana and Cassandra took a moment to catch their breath, and as they did that, I sought out an opportunity to leave them to it. There was so much to figure out – obviously they were going to need Madame du Greenlight to close the Breach, however they intended to do that. But was I supposed to stay in the Frostbacks until they figured that out, or could I go back to Denerim? And if I did go back to Denerim, was I going to be a target or a hero? Or had word even gotten back there about the Conclave? And if I stayed in Haven, how would my parents support themselves? I thought I'd probably be able to find a nice mug of Dwarven ale somewhere in the Frostbacks over which I could contemplate all of this, but was stopped on my way out the door.

"Please, stay." Cassandra said.

"I'm not your chosen one, Cassandra," I replied.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But we do need you, regardless."

"You'll forgive me if the idea of a Shemlen holy war doesn't exactly bolster my sense of duty."

Cassandra opened her mouth to answer me back, but Leliana stopped her.

"You do not have to stay if you do not wish to," she said. "But it will not be easy for you out there. Nor will it be easy for your people. Those here in Haven who saw what you did at the temple, and they fervently believe you were sent from Andraste. But to many others, you are an elf who has gotten away with murder. And if the stories my Kallian has told me are true, then you know full well what the impact of that will be on alienages throughout Thedas."

"Again, this really isn't helping."

"I don't know if you were sent to us or not, either," Leliana continued. "But you have seen that others believe you were. And if they can believe that, so can many more people. The Inquisition could use this influence to build support in Thedas. And with the Inquisition's help, you can use this new status to your advantage, and the advantage of your people. I believe the young girl who attended to you earlier would agree, no?"

"How did you know about her?" I asked.

"Leliana is our spymaster," Cassandra replied. "She knows everything that goes on in this camp."

"Thank you, Cassandra," Leliana said, seeming a little put out. "You need not answer us now, Herald of Andraste. Take some time to mull it over. Perhaps you can have Flissa pour you a drink. But you have my word that if you decide to stay with the Inquisition, you will be protected. And respected."

"When was the last time you heard from Kallian?" I asked. "How is she?"

"I received a letter from my love this morning," Leliana answered, surprisingly matter-of-factly. "She sends her regards, and says that if she can spare the time, she would love to visit us here in Haven."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Shortly before we left Val Royeaux for the Conclave, Kallian visited me at the Grand Cathedral. She knew the Conclave would be a difficult time for us all, and was the only one I told about Justinia's directive to restart the Inquisition. You know that she is looking for a way to stop the Calling; her current lead is in the very westernmost part of the Anderfels. Her visit gave me courage to see the Conclave through, whatever happened, and I like to think it gave her strength to make this treacherous journey."

The stories of Sister Nightingale told in the Alienage were of a master of the Grand Game of Orlais, of a woman who could charm the pants off of, or the life out of, anyone she chose. She was a master manipulator; someone who knew what you wanted to hear even before you did. But something about the way she offered this very personal and possibly sensitive information so calmly and so readily led me to believe she was speaking earnestly. And, honestly, even if I did leave, where would I go?

"I will join you," I said, regretting each word as it left my mouth, "under one condition."

"Name it," Cassandra said.

"Bring my parents here from Denerim, and set them up with a shop. They're good tailors, and while the latest Orlesian fashion is a bit out of reach for them, they make sturdy clothing that will serve us all well out here in the ass-end of nowhere."

"Consider it done," Leliana said. "I will have them here within the month, and as soon as we can find a steady supply of cloth, we will set them up with a shop."

"Thank you. Now I think I will have that drink you mentioned."

I shook hands with each of these formidable women, and made my way through the Chantry hall, head held a bit higher than it had been. Before I reached the door, however, I heard Cassandra behind me calling out my name.

"Nessa, please, wait a moment."

I stopped and turned around. She looked a little flustered, which on the face of the Right Hand of the Divine looked nothing if not endearing.

"I was hoping I might accompany you do the Tavern. I never have truly thanked you for saving my life in the temple that day. Your actions were, if you don't mind my saying so, heroic."

"You're welcome, Cassandra," I replied. "But it was nothing, honestly. I did what anyone would do in that situation."

Cassandra shook her head. "You have obviously not seen much battle, then. We would all like to think we would drop everything to save a fallen comrade, yet so often the will to live another day and see one's family again comes first. But you acted without hesitation, not just to save a life, but to save a Shem's life. I may not know all that you have experienced at the hands of humans, but I do know that you don't think very highly of us, and –"

"Cassandra, really, it's fine," I said, trying to save her from further embarrassment. "I hope that as long as we're working together, that will always be my first instinct. However, I certainly wouldn't say no to a free drink at the tavern.


	4. Andaran Atish'an

Chapter Four: Andaran Atish'an

I didn't see too much of Cassandra for the next week or two after that. She and Leliana spent most of that time holed up in the Chantry, and sometimes the sky looked positively dark with letter-carrying crows. Cassandra took immediate charge of the refugees and volunteers who began to stream in, organizing them by trade or profession, setting up a militia, and putting together the infrastructure that would ensure Haven's inhabitants would be well fed and well defended while the Inquisition got on its feet. With Madame du Greenlight sufficiently calmed (although still very much present), and regular meals, and a roof over my head, those weeks were some of the easiest of my life. In retrospect, I'm very glad I had this time, as my life was about to get more complicated than I could ever have anticipated.

I spent most of my time with Varric. The dwarves I ran with back in Denerim all had a wicked sense of humor, and Varric was no different. He told me stories of his time in Kirkwall, and how the Mage Rebellion got started (although I didn't ask how much of his part in the story was true, and how much was added in for narrative's sake). His stories of the Merchant's Guild were some of the best. Sure, there were politics in the Alienage, and the Chantry, especially an important one like Denerim's. But these dwarves were out for blood, often literally. Double-crossing was a capital offense, and also most dwarves' stock-in-trade. He didn't know much about the Carta in Ferelden, but from what he described of its work in the Free Marches, there was no way that Tegrin and Gorim weren't involved in all that. I wasn't about to tell him of my connection to the illicit lyrium industry, but he seemed to be the type of fellow who could figure something like that out, anyway.

As the Shems got used to having The Herald Of Andraste roaming the streets, the gasps of surprise and the spontaneous genuflecting began to happen less and less often. But they, along with Cassandra and Leliana, began to call me "Your Worship," which was both amusing and disconcerting. Oh, I ate it up, nodding my head sagely in their direction, just like I'd seen the Grand Cleric do when she walked around the Market Square. The other elves and I would have a laugh about that in private. In public they maintained the same deference around me, but occasionally I'd wink or stick my tongue out at them while doing the sagely nodding thing.

The service-oriented Shems were a mixed bag. The quartermaster started on this tangent about how she thought the Traitor Loghain was the best commander of troops ever to grace Thedas. Now, I generally don't have any opinion whatsoever on Shemlen politics, but that man tried to have Kallian killed more than once. When I explained this to Threnn, she backed off a little, muttering something about "when needs must." Harritt, the smith, was positively cordial. He'd already had a stout leather duster, some gloves, and a decent pair of boots waiting for me. He took my measurements as well, and said he'd be happy to bang out some real armor, if they were able to get decent ore. Contrast that with Seggrit, who'd set up a weapons shop by the gates. He was surly, overpriced, and asked me if I could talk to some of "my kind" about being a bit more handy getting him his supplies. His position wasn't going to last long, if I had anything to say about it, and I was starting to believe I did.

The best-run setup in the whole town, however, was the tavern. Flissa, the tavern keeper and barmaid, was beside herself the first time I stopped by. "You're her!" she gushed. "You're the Herald of Andraste, come to save us all!" I tried not to laugh out loud, but she must have seen the amusement on my face. But she never skimped on the pours, either with the ale or the whiskey, and her conversational skills were excellent. Plus, I'm certain she was giving me the "potential savior of the world discount."

The tavern's main attraction; however, was the bard who'd set up shop there. Maryden. She was skilled with the lute, and had a voice that would put a nightingale to shame (no offence meant to Sister Leliana, of course). As lovely as her voice was, she was just as easy on the eyes. Flissa had probably caught me staring one too many times, because she took an entire evening to discuss the boyfriend she'd lost during the blight, and the men who wound up falling in love with Maryden the Minstrel, rather than Ms. Halewell. I was disappointed, but I did take the hint. Didn't mean I spent any less time watching her sing.

My mini vacation ended much too abruptly one morning, when Melora was sent to let me know that Cassandra needed me in the Chantry. I wasn't sure why; Maker knows I'd only get in the way in their planning efforts, but if they needed me, I supposed I'd better show up.

"You seem to be adjusting to Haven quite well," Cassandra said, meeting me at the Chantry doors.

"I suppose people will be friendly if they think you've been sent to save them all," I replied. "Except Seggrit, of course."

"He has been selling his wares at that very location for nearly ten years," Cassandra said. "Removing him now would be a cruelty. Although he has been made quite aware that his treatment of elves will be monitored closely."

"That was – you didn't have to do that," I stammered.

"It was not done for you specifically, Your Worship. Not that I wouldn't have, it's just – I mean,"

"It's fine, Cassandra. I just hope someone put the fear of the Maker into him."

"Once we reminded him that Andraste's own Herald is elven, and that every blade he sold was pressed into Our Lady's service, I think he began to see reason."

I had a good chuckle at that before Madame du Greenlight gave me a little reminder that she was still around.

"I had hoped that with the breach sealed, the mark on your hand would have stabilized," Cassandra said, steadying me by my arm.

"For the most part, it has," I replied. "If you remember, I could barely stand when she flared up like that. This was the first time in days Madame has come by to say hello. And it's barely a twinge compared to how it was."

"I am glad to hear it. We still believe that this mark is our best chance at closing the breach. Solas is of the opinion that by pouring enough energy through it – as much magical power as caused the breach in the first place – we should be able to seal it."

"If it's all the same to you, Cassandra, I'd rather sit that one out. Couldn't you guys just cut my arm off at the elbow and throw it at the sky?" Cassandra stopped in her tracks and looked at me darkly.

"Demons continue to pour out of rifts caused by this breach, terrorizing all of southern Thedas. I'm certain we will find the humor in that suggestion once this is no longer the case."

Chastened, I followed her through the Chantry Nave and back toward the room where Cassandra and Leliana had dispatched Chancellor Roderick two weeks prior.

Elves are a pretty people, all things considered. Our bodies are lithe and graceful, our figures tend to run slim, because we generally don't have enough to eat and work too hard to put on much weight, and our facial features are, well, there's a reason half the workers in the Pearl are elves. So I was used to being around pretty. Humans generally aren't pretty. Humans are brutish, big, clumsy, and manage to run themselves either into or over just about everything they come near. So when all of a sudden I was in a room with three of simply the prettiest humans I had ever seen, I was a little taken aback. Leliana I had seen before, and there's no doubt why Kallian would have fallen arse over tits for her. Even this new, broody Leliana was still a looker – perhaps more so. Commander Cullen was a deadly concoction of a body that seemed to have been crafted specifically to wear armor, eyes that cried out "this man has seen some shit," and just an absolutely amazing head of blonde hair. And Ambassador Josephine looked as if she didn't so much walk from place to place, but floated on a pillow of lilac-perfumed air, all the while being attended to by four hummingbirds, two of which did nothing but keep that spectacularly crafted bun at the back of her head in perfect arrangement at all times.

Cullen introduced himself by lamenting the size of his army, which, in retrospect, could have been rather funny. Josephine, on the other hand, made an immediate impression with her linguistic skills.

"Andaran atish'an," she said, looking supremely proud that she'd managed to pronounce the Elvish correctly.

"Ma serannas," I replied, and she looked as pleased as punch. But when I continued with "Ir abelas, ar tel'dirth Elvhen," her face fell.

"It's okay," I said, chuckling. "I simply apologized for not being able to speak Elvish." This got Leliana snickering, and I think I saw a smirk on Cullen's face, as well.

"But I do appreciate the effort."

That seemed to ameliorate Josephine's mood, as she flashed me a grateful smile. "You are very kind, Mistress Ghilani."

"Yes, well," Cassandra said, hoping to move the meeting along. "I believe we had been discussing Solas's idea that we pour more power through the mark on the Herald's hand."

"Wait," I interrupted. "You are actually going along with this 'Herald of Andraste' nonsense? All of you?"

"What the people crave more than ever right now is hope," Josephine replied. "If you can be a symbol of that hope, then those people will look to the Inquisition for help and guidance."

"I get that. But do you actually believe I was sent by Andraste Herself?'

There was a moment of silence, as the four of them looked at each other, hoping someone would answer first. Cassandra finally did.

"As I told you before, you were – and are – exactly what we needed when we needed it. Whether you were sent by Our Lady Redeemer is a question Chantry scholars will answer at another time. But I fervently hope that She would send us someone at this time of chaos. And I choose to believe that someone is you."

"Do you all agree with her?" I asked.

Again, silence, but this time they were looking at me almost apologetically.

"Right. Just so we're clear, I think you're all out of your minds. But I'll go along with it, if for no other reason than having a bunch of Shems call me 'Your Worship' is hysterical. Now, I believe we were discussing how to get more power through ol' Greenlight over here. And with the mages and the Templars pretty much focused on nothing else than killing each other, that's going to be pretty difficult."

"That is where you come in, Your Worship," Josephine replied. "You are better suited than anyone to recruit hearts and minds to our cause. Be a presence in Ferelden. Show that the Inquisition – and the Herald of Andraste – are the people's best hope of coming out of the chaos that surrounds them."

"To that end," continued Leliana, "we have arranged a meeting with a Chantry mother who has been attending to the needs of war refugees in the Hinterlands, just south of Redcliffe. Her support will be influential in expanding our reach beyond Haven."

"I thought we weren't exactly on the Chantry's good side," I replied. "Why would this mother help us?"

"More than that," Josephine said. "The Chantry has declared you a heretic, all talk of your station as Herald of Andraste blasphemy, and officially denounced the Inquisition for harboring you."

"Well, I guess if Roderick couldn't chain me up and bring me back to Val Royeaux, he was still going to find a way to make my life difficult."

"Quite." Cassandra said. "This is why I will be accompanying you to the Hinterlands. I suggest Solas comes along with us as well, in case we run into more fade rifts."

"Well, if he's coming," I replied, "then I'm definitely going to need Varric along with us. Solas with nothing counteracting all that seriousness might just have us die of boredom, rather than a Templar's sword."

"If you must," Cassandra grunted. "When would you like to leave?"

"I said I would join your Inquisition if you brought my parents up here. We'll leave a couple of days after they arrive."


	5. Crossroads

Chapter Five: Crossroads

"What do you mean 'there's been a delay'?" I screamed. "Don't we have people for this sort of thing? You have scouts! Did you send your scouts?"

"Of course we sent our scouts," Leliana replied, more than a bit exasperated at my outburst. "I said 'delayed,' not 'in danger.' The Inquisition isn't exactly welcome in Denerim at the moment, thanks to Chancellor Roderick, so I've called in a couple of favors, and the King's personal guard will be escorting your parents to Haven. They left five days ago, so they should only be another day or two. The original plan was to have them here yesterday."

"Oh. Well, I…"

"I'll take that as an apology, then?"

I chuckled at myself, and then looked back at her. "Yes, I suppose it is. Thank you for calling in that favor, Leliana."

"Yes, well, that's quite alright. The King will see that it was worth it when the breach is sealed, no? Meanwhile, Josephine has secured space for them and a shop next to Harritt's forge."

"Thank you," I said again. "I thought they'd have to live in my cabin, and I only asked you to have someone escort them up here for their safety, but this? They will be so happy."

"You have already put your life on the line for this cause, Your Worship," Josephine replied. "And I am afraid you will most likely be required to do so again, if our scouts' reports of the situation in the Hinterlands are correct. Any small gesture such as this pales in comparison, I assure you."

I'm not sure if my mouth was actually open at that point, or if it just felt that way, but Josephine was kind enough to give me a way out of that conversation.

"Would you care to see your parents' accommodations, Mistress Ghilani?"

I nodded, and Josephine accompanied through the Chantry. We had just about made it out the door when we were stopped by a comical figure in a yellow and brown leather coat and matching… mask? Josephine gave me the most polite elbow to the ribs I'd ever received when she saw my reaction to his appearance. Had I caused an international incident by falling over myself laughing, however, it would have been the fake mustache on the bottom of the mask's fault, and no one would have blamed me for laughing at that, anyway.

"Marquis duRellion, you honor us with your presence," Josephine began. The Marquis wasn't having any of her pleasantries, however.

"Lady Montilyet. We must speak about the Inquisition's continued use of Haven as its base of operation."

"Of course, Your Grace," Josephine answered. "The Herald and I were just about to take a walk through the village. Perhaps you would care to join us?"

"I should think not," the Marquis protested. "It is bad enough that you continue to remain on my lands. But that these lands should be used to house this upstart order, led by an _elf_ , is something that simply cannot stand."

I wanted to say something – I really did. But there was really nothing to say at that moment. I knew the Chantry's rationale for launching the Exalted March on the Dales. And I knew that regardless of how much time had passed since then, fervent Andrastrians still somehow considered elves to be tainted with a connection to "heathenry." But this was so much easier to face as some old woman's chambermaid, instead of as the spiritual figurehead of, yes, an upstart religious order. Bouncing back and forth between "hey knife-ear" and "Your Worship" was exhausting.

Feeling myself far out of the notice of either the Marquis or the Ambassador, and not really up for any greetings or salutes or "Your Worships," I began to make my way through the shadows down to my original destination. The cabin itself looked nice from the outside, if a bit smaller than mine. Next to the cabin were two human laborers putting finishing touches on a market stand where my parents could sell their wares, once they had some to sell. I peeked inside the cabin, and two elven servants were putting a broom to the stone floor and cleaning out the hearth and the ironwork. I stopped in there and sat on the bed; immediately the girl sweeping the floor dropped her broom, and I think she stood at attention.

"Your Worship," she stammered. I shot her a withering look in response.

"I am _nobody's_ worship, and especially not yours." I snarled, and then felt kind of bad when the poor girl looked as if she was going to burst into tears. The woman working on the hearth stopped what she was doing and walked over to the younger servant, putting a comforting arm around her.

"It's alright," she said. " _Nessa_ over there doesn't want any of us elves making a fuss over her, because we're all supposed to be the same."

"We are the same," I replied, standing. "I'm just a Chantry maid from Denerim with a thing on my hand, for fuck's sake."

"Right," the older servant mocked. "A Chantry maid from Denerim. Who has her own cabin, with walls. Who gets meals served to her at the tavern, and has the tavern keeper falling over herself to make sure everything's just so. Who sits in on the big meetings; the ones with the shems that try to forget we exist. Just another Chantry maid."

"I didn't ask for this," I shouted, holding up my hand. "I just – I don't know – it just happened, alright?"

"Yes, it did happen. And I don't know if it was Andraste marking you or Fen'Harel having a go at us all, but there it is. And whether you like it or not, Nessa, you are special. You want to help your people, do something good? Use that. Make it worth something. And for pity's sake, don't go pretending that you're still one of us. You're not, and you never will be again, and you can thank the Maker for that every night you've gone to bed not having had to take orders from any shemlen."

Chastened, I grumbled, and sat back down on the bed. Then I noticed the table in the corner hadn't yet been polished, so I picked up some wax and a rag and got to work.

"It's my parents' house," I said, trying to stave off any grief I'd get for deigning to do some manual labor.

"It certainly is," the older servant replied. "And that's why we had to draw lots to see who got to clean it. Because you're special to us, too, Your Worship, whether or not you think so."

Mum and Dad showed up nearly exactly when Leliana said they would, accompanied by a rather resentful Royal Guard. Josephine greeted them personally, while two other shems followed behind the four of us, guiding the cart with my parents' belongings to their new home. They were barely able to mumble a greeting from the shock of it all, which was probably exacerbated by the shiny new iron and leather armor Harritt had just finished the day before. After Josephine had left with a very sincere "if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," we closed the door behind us, and the questions began. I told them as much as I remembered from the Conclave, about the breach, and how we got there, and gave them a quick rundown on my position in the Inquisition, and what the Inquisition expected of them.

"My daughter, the demon-slayer," Mum teased. "But I don't care if Andraste Herself commands it, I will not be calling you 'Your Worship,' is that clear, young lady?"

"Yes, mum," I said, feigning remorse.

"That's some fine armor," Dad said. "I suppose they're paying you better than the Chantry, then?"

"We haven't discussed payment, actually," I replied. "The smith made this for me, free of charge. He just asked that I scout around for some materials – some iron ore and a dozen nug skins. I'd scavenged a couple of sovereigns' worth of coins from the trip through the mines, and I've been eating on that. But I imagine more will come my way when we head out into the field tomorrow."

"You're going into the field? Tomorrow? But it's madness out there, with the mages and the Templars!" Mum said. "It's not safe! What are they thinking, sending an untrained girl out into a situation like that? Do you even know how to handle a blade?"

I couldn't help chuckling. "One of these days, Mum, I'll explain how the three of us were able to survive so long on a chambermaid's wages. For now, just know that I can more than take care of myself out there. Besides, this will give the two of you a chance to get acclimated and get your shop set up. You'll be working with Threnn, the quartermaster, to get supplies. Harritt next door will introduce you. He's the smith I was talking about. And if any shem even looks at you twice, you let me know when I get back. Seriously."

Mum shook her head and they each took their turns giving me a tight squeeze before I left them for the evening. But before I got to the door, Dad asked the question I'd been dreading all day.

"I don't want to seem ungrateful or anything, but why didn't you ask us before you dragged us out of Denerim?"

I sighed and walked back towards them, sitting on the bed.

"First of all, because you're too proud to ask me to help you get out of that sh – er, that hell hole. Secondly, and more importantly, because it wouldn't be safe to leave you alone. Some shem would still think I killed the Divine, or hear a knife-ear is the Herald of Andraste or something, and decide to hurt her by hurting her parents. I couldn't have that. I wouldn't be able to save this Maker-forsaken world if I didn't know you were safe. So, I'm sorry, but I kind of had to."

"Of course, sweetheart," Dad replied, even though his face clearly said otherwise. "It's cold down here, but it is a lot nicer than the Alienage."

As planned, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and I left the following morning to find Mother Giselle. The trip to the rendezvous point with the forward scouts in the Hinterlands took just three days by foot, even with Varric's dwarven legs holding us back a little. Unlike when we ran from the Forward Camp to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, we were in better shape for any trouble we might get into, be it from demons or skirmishing humans, having taken time to properly arm ourselves for such eventualities. And, with the immediate danger of a rapidly expanding breach behind us, we could take time to scout ahead for trouble, rather than simply run headlong into it. That became my job, and all four of us were perfectly happy with that arrangement. Not only was my ability to hide in plain sight useful, but I really wasn't terribly good company. Solas wasn't at all pleased that I didn't feel like having any elfy bonding moments, and I was still a bit too put out from my run-in with Josephine and the Marquis to spend any time talking to any shems, let alone nobles like Cassandra. Varric seemed to understand all this, and he stayed out of my way. When we camped in the evenings, I maintained an air of cool professionality, but I also made it perfectly clear that we were going to find where this priest was, get whatever information we could out of her, and head back to Haven.

I was a few hundred meters ahead of the others when I heard the fighting at the rendezvous point. I scouted a bit further ahead, off the path, scaled a tree, and saw three or four different mage/Templar skirmishes happening around the campsite, and what I could only guess were Inquisition scouts taking down belligerents on both sides to keep the camp safe. I ran back to let Cassandra know what was going on, and we double-timed it to lend a hand. But by the time we got there, things were very much under control. The lead scout, a young dwarven woman named Harding, was an ace sharpshooter with a bow, and was singlehandedly taking down the last four fighters as we arrived, each with well-placed arrows to the throat.

"Hell of a shot," I mumbled, mostly to myself, as she was putting her bow and quiver away.

"Thanks, Your Worship," she replied, and I looked up to see the single most disarming smile in recorded history. Everything else about her – from her furrowed brow, to her tailored armor, to the way her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, was business-like, almost severe. But when she wasn't slaughtering mages and Templars from a distance, her eyes twinkled, her smile beamed and her freckles danced. I found myself counting those freckles before Cassandra rather pointedly cleared her throat, and we got to business.

"Mother Giselle is in an area known as the Crossroads, about 10 kilometers northwest of here. There's been heavy fighting all around us, as you've seen, so please, be careful. The refugees are in pretty rough shape, as the war seems to follow them wherever they go. Corporal Vale is leading Inquisition efforts to protect and care for them."

We nodded, and were just about to get back underway when she held my arm to stop me.

"Herald, I – er, we – wanted to say how proud we are to be doing this – working for the Inquisition, I mean. It's an honor, Your Worship."

"Um, thanks," I mumbled. "We should get –"

"It's going to be dark by the time you get there," Harding insisted. "Maybe you should stay here for the night, get some food, and head out fresh in the morning."

"That is a good idea, Scout Harding," Cassandra said, dropping her pack in front of an open tent. "And if the fighting comes close to the camp again, you will have help holding it back."

And as the four of us were fast asleep twenty minutes after finishing our mutton stew, I'm glad there was no fighting to help with.

We headed out shortly after breakfast, filling up on healing draughts and field rations before we left. It was mid-morning by the time we got to the Crossroads, and the scene was chaotic. Small groups of mages and Templars were skirmishing all over the area, and nearly as many refugees were in the line of fire as combatants. My initial thought was to send the rest of the party back to the camp, sneak around the fighting as much as possible, find Mother Gisele, and get back to Haven. But then I looked up to see Inquisition soldiers thick in the fighting, and it was time to go to work. We moved in a tight formation, going from skirmish to skirmish, putting down mage and Templar alike, as they were both aiming for us. It was an efficient setup; Solas was keeping us safe with magical buffers, Varric was providing aerial cover, Cassandra was going headlong into the skirmishes, banging on the heavily-armed Templars, and I was taking down squishy mages who weren't watching their flanks. We were at it for hours. Nothing I'd ever done in Denerim had prepared me for this kind of sustained fighting, and I tired quickly a few times, before either finding a second wind or being provided one by Solas. I found myself picking my points of attack more carefully, and watching out for Cassandra as she got more and more tired. Templar armor, while made of sturdy plates of steel, had gaps that would open up depending on how they moved. I began to be able to anticipate these gaps and get a good poke or two in that allowed Cassandra to drop a final blow. We'd dispatched dozens of mages and Templars before they realized that they should leave the Crossroads alone, and scattered to the winds. I dropped to the ground panting, sweating, and sobbing with exhaustion and relief.

"The refugees should be safe now," Cassandra said, picking me up off the ground. "We have done well here."

"How are you still standing?" I asked. "You did everything that I did, except your sword is twice as heavy as my blades, you're carrying a shield, and your armor is fully metal, not mostly leather."

Cassandra's jaw dropped open for a second as she looked at me quizzically. "You have never been in such a battle before this, then?" she asked, and I shook my head. "Perhaps I should ask you the same question. It normally takes years of training and discipline before one is able to last this long in the fight. You are truly to be commended, Herald."

A little embarrassed, I looked down at my boots. "Mostly I was trying to stay alive and keep the mages and Templars distracted so that you could keep killing them." I said, and feeling a little woozy up on my feet, I sat back down. Varric handed me a skin of cool water which at that moment was the most wonderful thing in the world. Cassandra handed me a hunk of ram jerky and a flask of some sweet yellow syrupy stuff that sprung me right back to life. We waited for a few minutes to allow me to catch my breath, and then we were off.

Mother Giselle was tending to wounded Inquisition soldiers when we found her, comforting a young man who'd taken an arrow to the shoulder. We were announced, which caused a bit of a hubbub, and then the priest came to greet us. She was an older woman, with kindly eyes, and anyone who'd reached her age without at least being elevated to "Revered Mother" was certainly a pastor by vocation, rather than ambition. Priests like this would stop by the Denerim Chantry on occasion, and they were always the kindest. I heard of one such priest who swapped places with the servant she'd been assigned, giving her the plush bed and good food.

"You are the one they are calling 'The Herald of Andraste?'"

"You have to ask them," I answered. "I can't control what people say about me."

"We do not always have that luxury, my dear girl," she replied. "Sometimes the Maker asks us to assume a higher purpose and a higher station than –"

"Well, that should be easy; there aren't too many stations lower than the Alienage, are there? Sister Nightingale said you had some names for us?"

The priest looked a bit put out by my remarks, and nearly visibly shifted gears from pastor to co-conspirator.

"Yes, I have these names for Leliana, and I will go to Haven, once we are certain that the fighting in the Crossroads has subsided. Meanwhile, I will make a suggestion: I know those that have denounced both the Inquisition, and you specifically. Some are merely trying to increase their standing in the Chantry's politics; taking advantage of the loss of so many of our senior clergy. Some are frightened. Some simply do not know what to make of all this – they want to believe that Divine Justinia still has a hand in our lives, but the idea of an Inquisition like the one so many years ago is puzzling. Go to them. Show them you are no monster, no heretic. Show them that the Inquisition can be a force for good. Show them that you can be a force for good."

"You're joking, right?" I asked. "You want _me_ to go to Val Royeaux and convince the Chantry that the Inquisition isn't heresy. Somehow I don't think I'll get close enough for them to even hear me."

"This is because you are an elf?"

"Of course it's because I'm an elf. An elf who happens to be the perfect scapegoat for the biggest tragedy to hit the Chantry in ages, in a city whose Alienage makes Denerim's look like an Antivan resort. And I'm supposed to walk up to them and –"

"And talk. Let them see who you are."

"Sure. I'm certain I'll get a lot of talking in. Look, I'm not here to argue, I'm here to ask you to give us the names of some clerics. You're going to bring them to Haven, and I thank you for that. We'll meet there, I'm sure."

"Of course, Your Worship," she replied, and I turned around and walked away, only half hoping the rest of the party was following. I got to the point where we'd entered the Crossroads area, and began to walk back toward the camp to make our preparations to return to Skyhold when Cassandra stopped me.

"Herald, aren't we going to see Corporal Vale? These people need help."

"We've cleared out the mages and Templars, what more could he want?"

"Look around you, Herald," she replied. "See what condition these people are living in."

"Hungry, cold, living in filth? Looks like home to me," I quipped. "If you want to help them, go ahead. I'm pretty sure not a one of these shems would take the time piss on me if I were on fire, so I'm going to head back to Haven, now that our assignment is done. I'll see you when you get back."

If any of them tried to convince me further to help the shems in the Crossroads, I didn't hear. Walking back, I saw some mages and Templars battling in the woods, but I managed to slip into the shadows of the forest where I wouldn't be dragged into the fighting. Travelling by myself it only took an hour and a half to get back to the camp, and I wanted nothing more at that moment than a hot meal and a place to lie down.

"Herald, you're back, safe and sound," Scout Harding said, smiling. "Are the others far behind?"

"They're still in the Crossroads," I replied. "They wanted to stay and help the shems."

Scout Harding stared at me for a few moments and simply said "Oh." Then she gathered herself together and showed me where the food was and where I should bunk for the night.

I thought I'd sleep like the dead after all the fighting I'd done the day before, but sleeping outside wasn't a skill one learned on the Denerim streets, so there I was, an hour or two before dawn, wide awake. My night vision wasn't the best, but the sky was clear, and the moon was just this side of full, so I figured I could get an early start. Scout Harding was on watch, hunched over a bowl of thin gruel, and she called me over.

"Why didn't you stay with the others, Your Worship?" she asked, dispensing any pretense of small talk.

"Why should I have? That wasn't what we were sent here to do. We were sent here to talk to Mother Giselle, that's it."

"But you saw the conditions down there," Harding replied. "It's awful. You could have helped them."

"I don't owe them anything," I said, trying hard to keep my voice down so as not to wake the rest of the camp. "Do you really think any of those shems would lift a finger to help me if they saw me living in conditions like that? No, don't answer. That's not a hypothetical question for me; it's what I've seen. There are parts of the Alienage where I'm from that look just like that, and we've never even seen so much as a poor box donation. Those shems wouldn't think twice about a knife-ear like me without this green thing on my hand, so by Andraste's left tit, why should I care about them?"

"You really don't get it, do you, Your Worship?" Harding asked.

"What don't I get?"

"Any of this. What we're doing here. What I'm doing here. It's not about the humans at all. And it's certainly not about you. I mean, look. I'm Andrastrian, at least as much as any dwarf is. You won't see me in the Chantry too often, and I don't even think we have a copy of the Chant of Light at home, but I believe in the Maker, and I believe in Andraste. And when I heard about what you did at the temple, it all seemed to make sense. You may or may not believe you were sent to us, and I'm starting to think you don't. But I believe you were. And the rest of the scouts here do, too."

"You seriously believe that nonsense?" I asked.

"Yes, I do. I mean, it doesn't matter whether it's actually true or not. But you're here. And you have a job to do. And the idea that you were sent here and now is the only bit of hope this area has."

I started to walk back to my tent, but Scout Harding wasn't quite done talking yet.

"You know, I grew up in a village around here. On the surface. We had a little farm – nothing special – just enough to feed ourselves and sell a few odds and ends at the market. But we were the only dwarfs in the village. And while we never had it anywhere near as bad as the elves, the humans weren't exactly warm and friendly to us, either. Some of those Fereldan boys, well, let's just say I learned to fight with weapons before most village girls ever had to. So Maker knows I'm not doing this for the humans, either. I'm doing this for the Inquisition. I'm doing this because there are demons falling out of the sky, mages and Templars are killing each other without looking to see who gets caught in the middle, the Chantry is in shambles, I just sent my parents to sodding Denerim for their own safety, and the Inquisition are the only ones who have said they're going to do anything about it, _with_ the Divine's blessing, and _with_ the Maker's help. And you're Andraste's herald. So if you're not on our side, we really don't know if Andraste is on our side. And if She isn't on our side, then what are we doing here?"

"Of course I'm on our side," I protested. "I've told Leliana and Cassandra that I'd do whatever I can to help."

"Then why aren't you doing that, Your Worship? Why aren't you showing those humans down there that the Inquisition is going to set this right? Show them that Andraste is on our side, that we have the Maker's blessing. And show them that we can help. More than that, show those soldiers down there that they've done the right thing by fighting and dying for the Inquisition. They need to believe in you. _I_ need to believe in you," she said, lightly grabbing my arm. "Show me that this is all worth it."

Maybe it was the hour of the morning, or maybe it was because she literally had moonlight dancing in her eyes as she was talking, but I couldn't say no. I couldn't say much of anything, actually. But when I put my pack and my weapons back down by my tent, she smiled at me, and I wanted to see more of that smile.

"Okay, so what now?" I asked.

"Now I send Corporal Vale a message that you are on your way, so he needs to track down Seeker Pentaghast and the others. Then you find Vale, he tells you which way to walk, and you go save the world. Simple enough?"

An honest smile appeared on my face for the first time since we left Haven.

"Then I suppose I'd best get started."


	6. Closing the Rift

Chapter Six: Closing the Rift

It was still early morning by the time I got to Corporal Vale, who, blessedly, didn't look too put out that I'd headed back to the camp instead of helping the refugees. He informed me that Varric had done a great job of picking off some rams that afternoon, and that the three of them had left about an hour earlier, headed about a day's journey to the south to hunt down some cold weather supplies. I thanked him, and set out in that general direction, hoping they'd stayed along the main path.

About ten kilometers into my journey I began to see piles of freshly dispatched bandits. As corpses of Templars and mages began to show up along with the bandits, I knew I'd be catching up with my erstwhile traveling companions shortly, so I began to listen for sounds of fighting. Hearing Cassandra's clarion "Maker take you!" ring out through the hills, I took off at a dead sprint towards the action. Things seemed to be going well, so I looked to see how I could help. Solas was throwing up a barrier on Cassandra when he was flanked by a rogue coming out of the shadows. I rushed in as quickly as I could, both knives bared, took a leap at the man, and wound up face down in the dirt. Cassandra had literally pulled the bandit away from Solas with a chain, and was relieving him of his head. Varric, who was surprisingly adept at using his crossbow in tight quarters, dispatched with his immediate opponent, and the skirmish was over. Cassandra spared half a glance in my direction before setting back off along the path with a huff.

"Changed your mind, kid?" Varric asked, helping me to my feet.

"Yeah, kinda," I answered, and began to strip the bandits for supplies.

"Glad to hear it. The Seeker might have a few things to say about it, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you're with us."

"Thanks, Varric," I replied, smiling to myself as I tossed a nicely-weighted coin purse into the air. Cassandra turned around at the sound, walked over to me, and slapped the purse out of my hand.

"That is not yours," she said, brooking no argument on the subject. I offered one anyway.

"It's not like she has any use for it! How am I supposed to survive without any coin?"

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you went back to camp in a snit. This woman was not your kill, and those are not your coins. Leave them."

"But shouldn't we take them back to Haven? I'm sure the –"

"Leave. Them."

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and followed her along the path.

Our assignment was fairly straightforward. We were to hunt down caches left behind by Mages hiding in the caves and forest, mark the location of those caches on a map, and hand that map to some kid named Whittle, who apparently used to nick blankets off of clotheslines in Gwaren. Whittle would then take a crew of refugees out with him and collect those caches, ostensibly staving off the cold weather for a bit. He had a vague idea where we could find them, and off we went. The first few were fairly easy to find, barely hidden behind a hill or under a tree. One was in a cave, surrounded by red lyrium, which Varric was very grateful to have Cassandra smash into bits. Another was in a cave that was still in use. The owner of that cache didn't appreciate our putting it on the map, but we managed to convince him it was necessary. That last crossbow bolt in his eye seemed to seal the deal. The final cache was very well hidden, or at least it seemed that way, as by that point we had wandered all over Thedas, beat back no fewer than eighteen bandits, four Templars, and five Mages, and the sun was perilously close to the horizon. Solas put a light glow on his staff that allowed us to mark the location on the map. As late as it was, setting up anything like a camp was out of the question, so we simply looked for a place to wait out the night before heading back to the Crossroads.

Trudging along, Solas spotted torchlight, and at that point, we'd have fought even more bandits just to take their campsite, given the opportunity. As we got closer to the source of the light, it became evident that the torch was attached to the entryway of a small keep, and the thought of spending the night indoors quickened our pace. As we reached the gate, a guard greeted us, and asked us to wait to speak with the leader of the group that had holed up in there.

"My name is Speaker Anais," the leader said when she arrived. "And you are the Herald of Andraste? Is it true, then? The Maker has not told me."

"I don't know who told you wha – Ow!" Cassandra positively scowled at me after kicking my shin with her steel greaves.

"Oh, the Herald of _Andraste_? Yes. Yes I am absolutely the Herald of Our Lady Herself," I answered, saving myself further injury.

"So the rifts, then. They bend to your will?" Anais asked, oblivious to what had gone on between Cassandra and me in that peculiar way only a cultist can.

"Bend 'em, break 'em, seal 'em. I can do all that."

"We shall see, then," she replied. "There is a rift in a cave at the rear of this keep. Let us see, Herald, exactly how Our Lady has graced you."

"After we close it, would you mind if we stayed here tonight? We've been travelling all day, and –"

" _If_ you are able to close it, you will have done us a great kindness. You would certainly be our guest."

I turned around to see if my companions were up to the task. They looked eager to get on with things, so I nodded to Anais, and she showed us where they kept their fade rift.

All in all, it was a fairly ordinary rift. The first wave had two Terror demons, and Cassandra and I had figured out their weaknesses four rifts ago. The second had another Terror demon, two wispy things, and the nasty flying thing that shot ice at us. Cassandra did her trick with the chain and dispatched the ice thing first. Solas and Varric handled the wisps, and I kept the Terror demon at bay until Cassandra had a chance to get a nice clean blow to its midsection. Once that was done, Madame du Greenlight took care of the rift itself, while Solas picked up whatever weird bits of demon he'd been collecting along the way.

A fairly ordinary rift, except for the applause we received once it had closed. Or, at least, I had received. Whatever. Regardless, Anais came to meet us as we walked out of the cave and into the keep itself.

"Makers tears," she said. "I was a fool to have doubted you."

"We can discuss that tomorrow. For now, we need a bath and a bed."

The following morning at breakfast, Cassandra jumped up from the table rather suddenly, grabbing an Elven mage by his shoulder and speaking with him in rather severe tones. I started to fidget in my seat, hoping I wouldn't have to witness some kind of Chantry/Mage – Elf – whatever incident, until Varric put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright, kid," he said. "The Seeker volunteered to find him, because he makes a potion that can help his mother's cough."

"Right. Of course," I stammered, feeling a little embarrassed for jumping to conclusions like that.

"You're really going to need to let that thing you have against humans go, you know. It's not going to help –"

"What is it with dwarves telling me what I should think about shems?" I said, raising my voice a little. "First Harding, and now you. You've never lived in an alienage, okay? You don't know what humans are capable of. They don't go into Kirkwall and pick a few women to rape, do they? They don't round you up and make you live in a slum. They don't call you, I don't know, braid-beard or something. You've never had a human check his pockets just because you passed next to him on the street."

"Hey, I didn't –"

"No, I don't suppose you did," I interrupted. By this time I'd gathered a bit of an audience, so I cooled it a little.

"How about you not tell me how to feel, and I'll stop lecturing you on the subject. Deal?"

"Okay kid," Varric said. "I'll leave it alone."

"And that's another thing: stop calling me 'Kid.' I'm the bloody Herald of Andraste."

"She is correct, Varric," Cassandra said, having just sat back down at the table. "Her Worship should be addressed with the respect owed to one of her station."

"Yeah," Varric replied, nearly as annoyed as he was chastened. "I guess she should be."

After Varric grumbled his begrudging assent, we finished our breakfast in peace before making our goodbyes. I asked Speaker Anais to use her flock to spread word of the Inquisition, and bring more Fereldens to our cause, which actually got a smile out of Cassandra.

The trek back north to the Crossroads was quiet and business like. We had to deliver the map back to Whittle and pick up Mother Giselle at Harding's forward camp before heading back to Haven.

"Your Worship," Cassandra said, just as we were leaving an Inquisition way station to replenish some supplies. "You seem more comfortable today with your title. If this is the case, I am certainly happy for it."

"Yeah, I don't know," I replied. "It's just, you know, if that's the only way I'm going to get any respect, I figure I should play that card every once in a while."

"I understand completely," Cassandra replied.

"How could you possibly –"

"If I may, Herald," Cassandra interrupted. "I was in a similar situation myself once upon a time. As a young Seeker – as a young woman Seeker – the respect I received from my fellows was begrudging at best, and most often nonexistent. And being called to Her Holiness's Right Hand made me no older, and no less a woman in the eyes of the other Seekers. It would fall on me, more often than not, I'm afraid, to remind others that I, like everyone else in this world, deserve respect. Sad as it is, often the only way I was able to get this through was to pull rank."

"Yeah, but I never asked for this," I protested. "I don't want to be thought of as this holy person. I've seen holy people my whole life in Denerim, and that's not who I am."

"Do you honestly believe I asked to be the Right Hand of the Divine?"

"No, but when it was offered, you accepted that position."

"And this morning, Your Worship," Cassandra said, holding my wrist and facing me, "so did you."

"Yeah, but I –" I stammered. Cassandra merely cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting for her message to sink in.

"I don't even know what a Herald _is_ ," I said, finally. "It's not like they had those in the Chantry."

"Then it is up to you to make the position your own, as you see fit. And you have an entire village full of people who would trip over each other to help you do that."

"Okay, I get it," I huffed. "We should move out, anyway. I'd like to drop this off and get back to Harding as soon as possible."

"Very well, your worship."

We made much better time on the way back, not having to stop to kill as many bandits or parties of skirmishing mages and templars along our path. There were still two and a half hours of sunlight left by the time we reached Recruit Whittle and Corporal Vale, which would have given us just enough time to get to the forward camp before nightfall, except that there were twenty or so shems lined up in front of him, waiting to "join the Inquisition," whatever that meant. After a few of them began to display their 'martial prowess' for my approval, I pulled Vale aside.

"They're serious about this?" I asked him.

"They absolutely are," he replied. "I'm not sure how many of them know which end of the sword to hold, but they're all very serious about doing their part to close the breach. Of course, your coming through with the first meat many of them have seen in three weeks may have had something to do with it. As did taking time out of your journey to find Hyndel and send him back with his mother's tonic."

"Hyndel?" I asked. "You mean the –"

"The bright young man who was so handy with the potions before he got mixed up in that cult? That's him."

"Well, if these people want to help, we can always use them," I said. "Find a dozen or so that do know how to handle themselves in a fight, and get them to keep the peace. I'll talk to the folks back at Haven about getting you an official Inquisition charter. Gear's a little scarce, but I'll see what I can do about that, too."

I wasn't sure if Vale was about to burst into tears or song, but he looked absolutely overcome when I offered this to him.

"Your Worship," he said, getting down on one knee and saluting me across his chest. "My sword will ever be in your service, and in the service of Our Blessed Lady."

I returned his salute and offered my hand to help him up, trying to look suitably reverent the whole time. I caught Cassandra's eye, and she was smirking and nodding in that infuriating manner I was growing accustomed to.

It had been dark for nearly two hours by the time we got to the forward camp, and we were grateful for the rest, having walked nearly 50 kilometers since morning. Vale had been good enough to send a crow ahead of us, so there were tents already stood up by the time we got there. Scout Harding made sure we got enough water so our muscle cramps wouldn't be as bad the next morning. Of course she made extra-sure that the Herald got her share and then some, which became a problem about three hours before sunrise. Coming back out of the woods, I saw Harding on watch by the fire.

"Do you take all the overnight watches, Scout Harding?" I asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Do you always have trouble sleeping outdoors, Your Worship?" she retorted.

"You looked like you needed company," I replied. We sat in silence for a bit while she poked at the fire with a stick. I was about to get up when she put a hand on my arm to stop me.

"Vale mentioned in his note what you did down there, with the people who want to fight, I mean. He was over the moon about it. Normally his messages are three or four words long, but this time he almost didn't get it all on one page. You did something really great down there, Herald. You gave those people a purpose."

"I didn't do anything, really," I said. "Cassandra could just as easily have recruited Vale and his people."

"And I'm sure Vale would've been proud to help if she had," Harding replied. "But she didn't. You did. Listen to what he wrote: 'The Herald of Andraste asked _me specifically_ to lead a group of fighters to keep the peace.' That's all you, Your Worship."

"I just – I mean, I…"

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'I'm glad I could help, and it's nice to see the refugees' spirits lifted," Harding said, with a smile so bright we barely needed the fire. I just stared at her face for a moment, barely registering that she'd finished talking.

"I'm not sure if it's my place to say this," she continued, "but I'm really proud of you. You could have easily walked right back to Haven yesterday, but you didn't. And instead, this happened."

I looked sheepishly at the ground, and then let go a huge yawn, which Harding giggled at, gently.

"This would've been much easier on horseback," I said, starting to make my way back towards my tent."

"Oh!" she said, probably a little loudly for that hour of the morning. "I know just the place for that!"


	7. Fabric

Chapter Seven: Fabric

We spent the next couple of weeks in the Hinterlands, mostly reconnoitering for future needs. The battles between the Mages and Templars weren't ending any time soon, so it was going to be imperative to cut both groups at the knees. We thought collecting the horses from Master Dennet was going to be straightforward enough, but it took two days to get there, dodging (and not dodging) mage/Templar skirmishes, wolves, bandits, fade rifts, and, oh yes, bears. Plus, when we got there, we were told we had to fix every. damned. problem in that farming village before Dennet would even think about "Halla Rider" (Seriously. He seriously called me that.) getting his horses. So that wasn't going to happen for a while, at least not until construction crews were finished building lookout towers. And while we were digging around all of that, we found evidence of some sort of illicit mining operation while clearing out a band of mercenaries holed up in an ancient fortress.

All that aside, Solas found a decent staff, and I must have scrounged up 50 gold just walking around. That area of Ferelden is also very rich in iron and drakestone, which, along with nugskin and ram leather was going to go a long way towards outfitting the now three dozen recruits that Corporal Vale was sending our way. Plus, the personal tension that had built up after my departure and sudden return dissipated.

"Did I do the right thing?" Cassandra asked me early one morning while Solas and Varric were still sleeping.

"What do you mean?"

"Declaring the Inquisition, breaking ties with the Chantry… it all seems a little sudden."

Cassandra looked genuinely vulnerable, sitting by the fire, so I scooted a little closer to her and tried to be of some comfort.

"Well, the mages and Templars were already tearing up Thedas, and then most of the Chantry leadership died and demons started falling from the sky. I'd say if there were any time for a big move, that was it."

"I suppose you're right," she replied. "In any case, there is no turning around now. And, if nothing else, I believe we are doing some good in this corner of Ferelden."

"The humans here seem genuinely grateful for our presence, so that's something."

Cassandra sighed at that, opened her mouth as if to say something in response, but looked away instead. Solas came by the fire, sat down, and sighed even more dramatically than Cassandra had.

"Surely by now we can make our way to Val Royeaux as the Chantry mother has suggested," he huffed, as if it weren't the 43rd time he'd made that suggestion in the past three days.

"By the Creators, Solas, if I hear you so much as think that question one more time…" I replied, getting up to pack away my things.

Walking back up the Frostbacks into Haven, my steps were lighter. I was honestly glad to get back "home," as we'd been calling it. I was anxious to see how my parents were getting along, how the other elves were faring without The Herald around, what Maryden was wearing. In fact, I was so looking forward to telling Commander Cullen about the recruits he could expect in the following weeks that I went to look for him straightaway after dropping off three bushels of elfroot and spindleweed at Adan's cabin. I didn't expect to be greeted by a near riot in front of the Chantry doors, however.

Mages and Templars were moving quickly from yelling in each other's faces to sword hilts being displayed prominently and sparks being brandished on fingertips. Accusations were being tossed around about the death of the Divine, and resentments built up over centuries were quickly boiling over. I had just walked toward the Chantry to see what all the commotion was about, when Cullen came out to quiet things down. The Templars snapped to attention at once, while the mages started to mutter amongst themselves before retreating to the corners.

Meanwhile, Chancellor Roderick came out of nowhere and starts cracking wise to Cullen, hoping to undermine his position and sow dissent among the rank-and-file. Cullen, being brand-fucking-new at this whole commanding thing – Oh, wait. That's right; he's not. So, rather than taking the Chancellor's bait, Cullen simply rolled his eyes and told everyone to get back to work in a distinctly commanding manner, leaving the Chancellor plenty of time to think of his next come-back.

Mum and Dad were adjusting nicely. Fabric was hard to come by, but Dad was handy with leatherwork, so he could lend a hand in Harritt's shop, filling orders for the more flexible armor, like mine. Mum was able to add some embroidery, both functional, such as rank designation, and decorative, which did more for morale than I would have thought. She also took special requests for a bit of coin, and that had started to add up by the time we got back.

"Honestly," Mum said, after I pressed her for the dozenth time, "the Humans have been nothing but gracious. We're paid a fair wage, they genuinely appreciate the job we're doing, and we've got a bit of standing thanks to our divinely-touched daughter, you know. Things haven't looked this good for us since we had our shop in the Market."

"Exactly," I replied. "And how long did that last? It looks like I'm going to be gone a lot, doing Herald stuff, and I just don't want to come back to find –"

"To find what, dear? Harritt is right next door, both Leliana and Josephine have told us to let them know if we need anything often enough that I'm actually starting to believe it, and your father's losing just enough coin at his weekly games of Wicked Grace to stay on the soldiers' good side."

"Mum!"

"I'm kidding about that last bit. But, please, you have a very important job now, sweetheart. You need to focus on that, and everything will take care of itself. Do you know how they were talking about you while you were in the Hinterlands? They really believe you're Her herald. That's a lot of responsibility. Plus, all the fighting you get up to. Oh, yes, I've heard some stories about you getting mixed up with the Templars and the mages."

"So, you're not worried about me out there anymore?" I asked

"Not terribly, no. I'm also not entirely sure I want to know how you got that good at killing people. Just make sure you come back to us, all right? Meanwhile, Josephine, Threnn and I have put together a list of fabrics we'd like you to pick up while you're in Val Royeaux. How exciting! You're going to Orlais!"

I remember the first time I left Denerim. I had just signed on with Gorim's team, and he had a little loyalty test for newcomers. I was sent in as "muscle," told that my partner wasn't going to be carrying any weapons for – reasons, I guess. So, I was escorting him and nearly 5000 sovereigns to Old Tegrin in the Hinterlands, where we would be picking up six kilos of processed lyrium, which had a street value of about twice that. Either the gold or the lyrium could have set me up for life, if I'd've just offed my partner, stolen the goods, and hightailed it out to the Anderfels or something. But I didn't do that, because I'm not that kind of person. I needed the job, and my parents would have been shit out of luck without me, and, really, murder just isn't my thing. Turns out that Gorim and Tegrin had some friends watching us the whole way (so, yeah, I guess there's no way they're not Carta), and I wouldn't have made it half a mile before being reduced to blood and guts that needed to be washed off some Dwarven armor. But, all in all, that turned out pretty well. We did run into some bandits, and I was able to make them go away without too much violence, so Gorim's friends put in a good word for me, and I was given a nice bonus on top of what I was supposed to be paid for that job.

The trip to Val Royeaux was my first ever venture outside of Ferelden, and a hell of a lot more exciting than that first trip to see Old Tegrin. It about a week and a half, all told. We trudged through the mountains down to Lake Calenhad, went north from there up to the Imperial Highway, over the border into Orlais, took the ferry at Lydes over the Shining Sea, and right into the self-styled Capital of the World. The fade rifts kept pretty much to themselves, but with the small retinue we'd brought along (two dozen soldiers; mostly Corporal Vale's recruits in shiny armor, mixed in with a few others who knew how to block with a shield), the three we ran into weren't much trouble. Primarily we camped, but an inn at Halamshiral and another one right outside of Val Royeaux helped keep us fresh for what I was certain wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"We're going to need a plan for this, Cassandra," I said. It was long past midnight, and we were a 45-minute walk outside the Val Royeaux gates. Cassandra, of course, was asleep in the room she and I were sharing. Solas and Varric were in another, and the soldiers were camping in a nearby field, which I could see from our window.

Well, she had been asleep.

"Go to sleep, Herald. We'll make our plans in the morning."

"I'm serious, Cassandra. Look at them. Some of the boys in that group don't even shave yet. They have no idea what we're walking into here. It's great that we brought them along for show and all, but they need to scatter once shit gets real."

"We're here to talk. Nothing more."

"Well, _we_ are, but the Chantry's not just going to let us walk up to the Grand Cathedral and say 'Hey, guys. How's it going?' There are still some Templars who have remained loyal and they're all right here in Val Royeaux. Real soldiers, not some kids in shiny suits."

Cassandra pushed the covers off her with a grunt, slid into some boots and a cloak, and walked downstairs, coming back with a bottle of well-aged Antivan port and two small glasses. She poured a healthy draught and slid it my way.

"Drink," she said, and I did. Then she refilled mine, and poured another for herself.

"My lady, it is kind that you worry about those under your command. Please believe me when I tell you that it will all work out. You have fought Templars before and won, with inferior blades and no training. You are formidable on the field of battle, and your survival sense is peerless. Former Knight-Captain Rylen was in charge of training recruits in Starkhaven, and knows what his soldiers can and cannot do. If events do not unfold peacefully, they will push, but he will not let his men be slaughtered. Varric's smart mouth and capable crossbow somehow kept him alive in Kirkwall through both the Qunari attack and the Mage rebellion, so I imagine we'll have the pleasure of his company back in Haven once this is over. And Solas seems to be a man who knows what he's doing. And if you're worried about me, well, don't be. If the Maker could see me through the attack on Divine Beatrix, I imagine he can guide my sword-arm through whatever the remaining Templars could throw at us."

"You're right, Cassandra," I allowed. "I'm just new at all of this, and –"

"And we all have to start somewhere. _Remember, not alone do we stand on the field of battle_."

I snickered. "Apotheosis? Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we? I'm not Andraste, and this isn't Tevinter."

"That verse isn't just about actual battle. Andraste tells me that the Maker will stand with me on any field of battle, whether that battle is against men in the Dales of Orlais or against myself in my own soul.

"Besides, she lost her battle, but has become more glorious as the Bride of the Maker than she could have imagined the night before her Maferath's treachery. Go to sleep, Herald. You'll need your wits about you in the morning."

The next morning, we rose an hour or so after the sun, ate with the soldiers, and made our way into Val Royeaux, straight through the city gates, like any other visiting delegation. We had an appointment to speak at the Grand Cathedral, in front of as many clergywomen and local nobility as could (or would deign to) attend. We were to outline our plans for closing the breach and finding those responsible, answer questions about our claims to divine directive (Josephine told me to be honest, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out what that meant), and generally put minds at ease that we were a force for good, rather than for further chaos. Following this, Cassandra and I were to make a show of paying respects to the monument dedicated to Divine Justinia in the Sunburst Throne room, and then we would retire to the inn we had set up for the following weeks while we gathered supplies.

Things didn't quite work out that way.

Our route to the Grand Cathedral led us right through the Market Square, and as if it were orchestrated that way (it was orchestrated that way), a podium was erected just a hundred meters from the gallows, where there were two nooses hanging – one for an elf, and one for a human. The crowd in the market surrounded us, and Cassandra and I were separated from our compatriots – Varric and Solas included – and brought onto the podium for questioning. They didn't want to talk, but they also didn't want a battle in the streets. They wanted our necks.

Words were tossed around. Cassandra and I tried to stay to our script, but the de facto Grand Cleric would cut us off, play to the crowd, make subtly racist comments about my heritage, and question Cassandra's sanity, using her fallacious arguments to 'prove' our guilt in the death of the Divine.

"All we want is to close the breach!" I would say.

"Does not your Andruil call you home through it?" they would mock. "Or does she even listen to you anymore, _Herald of Andraste?"_

"We were directed by Justinia before the Conclave even began," Cassandra would explain.

"You got a taste of power with Beatrix, and now you want to run everything!" they would deflect.

The crowd was getting more and more restless and bored. They were here for an execution, not a kangaroo court. Finally, the sounds of steel boots marching in time grew closer and closer. The de facto Grand Cleric got a sly smile on her face as she looked at me, then stepped to the front of the podium and addressed the crowd.

"Dear people of Val Royeaux, hear me! You have seen these pretenders for what they are – savage heretics and opportunistic usurpers. Today, the Chantry reclaims what was so violently ripped from us. Today, we avenge our sweet Justinia's death with the blood of the monsters responsible. Today, we restore order to Thedas, peace to –"

I winced as I saw a steel greave make contact with the Cleric's face. She slumped to the deck, and an older man in armor stepped to the front of the podium to announce that the remaining Templars would no longer act under the authority of the Chantry, nor would they act as protectors of Val Royeaux. Then, just as suddenly as they came in, they marched off, Cassandra hot on their heels.

"Lord Seeker Lucius! Lord Seeker Lucius!" she yelled, but got nothing. He and his men continued to march until they were long out of sight, with Cassandra left behind, staring. The mob that had been calling for our execution just minutes earlier was dispersing, disheartened by the Templars' actions. Rylen positioned his men around the market, in case some decided to take matters into their own hands. I stepped over the cleric on the podium and found Varric and Solas. Cassandra joined us a few minutes later, obviously distressed.

"Did you know that man?" I asked. "That Lucius fellow?"

"I did," Cassandra replied. "At least I thought I did. But I don't understand anything of what I just saw. Lucius is a reasonable man. He was elected Lord Seeker specifically because he'd never do anything like – like that. This is very troubling. We should inform Leliana – perhaps her scouts have seen something."

"Meanwhile," I said, "It doesn't look like the Chantry is going to be very much use to anyone for the time being, let alone us. Let's just get some of those supplies we need – ask Rylen to send some of his friendlier recruits around to the shops. My mum will have my head if I don't come back with at least six bolts of this Montfort linen.


	8. Friends

Chapter Eight: Friends

Denerim isn't actually all that far south of Val Royeaux, as far as the map goes, but the climates are worlds apart. The air blowing in from the western deserts breaks up the fog that drifts up from the sea a few hours before noon each day, leaving a sparkling jewel of a city in its place. It's not Antiva City, to be sure, but if I were going to set up an imperial capital that would last a thousand years or so, Val Royeaux would be as good a place as any to put it. I was enjoying a lovely walk around the market with a few of the elven recruits Rylen had brought along. They were recent recruits, girls from the Redcliffe alienage, who'd signed up together once they heard the stories of our trip through the Hinterlands. Being the Herald of Andraste and all, I tried to play it off cool seeing some of the finery on display, but we arrived at a shop selling masks, and the peacock feathers and tiny pearls and rubies and gold inlay were just too much for our minds to handle. So, we got a little silly, putting on the masks, speaking in exaggerated Orlesian accents about " _Jambon de désespoir,_ " and " _Fromage d'ennui_ ," such that we'd certainly have been annoying some customers, if there had been any. Thankfully the girls I was with hadn't picked up as much Orlesian as I had working in a larger Chantry, so when the shopkeeper muttered something about " _putes de lapin_ " under her breath, I was the only one who understood what she was implying. I made sure she saw the green mark on my hand as I shepherded the girls out of the shop, and was gratified to catch her face fall as she realized she'd never sell a single mask to the Inquisition.

The sea change that made that a big deal happened nearly overnight. Once the torches and pitchforks were safely stowed, the people of Val Royeaux needed something to entertain themselves with, and tales of the Herald of Andraste and her mysterious Inquisition fit the bill nicely. Two days later, Inquisition soldiers were being bought drinks and asked for stories, and I was eating free meals in restaurants that a month prior wouldn't have hired me on as a waiter. In fact, had that shopkeeper not been such a racist bitch, I may have had a personalized Orlesian mask to take back to Haven with me, so she could tell patrons far and wide how she "hand-crafted this mask with the wild fervor that Our Lady's herald demands." Yeah, the whole "Mysterious Elven Herald" thing was certainly going to get old, quickly, but the free stuff was nice.

So, I shuffled the girls out of the shop and back out into the market square, looking for a stand that sold some of that fizzy apple drink that was all the rage, when I heard

"Nessa! Watch out!"

And was pulled to the ground by Fiona, one of the girls I was walking with, and immediately surrounded by a half-dozen Inquisition soldiers, who saw to my safety, got me back on my feet, and went looking for whoever had shot an arrow at me. I thanked everyone for their concern, took a look at the arrow, and called everyone back.

"It's alright. We're not under attack. It was just the Jennies trying to get a hold of me. Call off the investigation."

The Friends of Red Jenny were, depending on the day, harmless distractions, free entertainment, or pains in the ass. That day they were somewhere between the first and third. The note attached to the arrow said there was a "baddie" near Val Royeaux somewhere who wanted to hurt me, and there was a short scavenger hunt laid out for me to find this "baddie," and I was supposed to bring swords. I sighed, and brought the note back to the inn, leaving the girls to explore the market without me.

"It's a group called 'The Friends of Red Jenny,'" I said to Cassandra and Scout Harding, who I'd pulled into an impromptu meeting when I got back to the inn. "They're harmless, honestly, but they're the kind of harmless you really want on your side. The basic concept is they network servants together who will pass on information about the people they work for. Most of the time they don't need anything from the servant himself besides that bit of information: 'Is this guy you work for a real prick?' Once they get that, they do their thing, get a bit of coin to the servant, everyone's happy. So, besides the local coordinators, no one who does any work for the Jennies would know that they did."

Cassandra looked like her head was about to fall off from confusion. Harding seemed to get it, though.

"So, that this guy's a 'Baddie,' that report came from one of his servants? Is that also how we know he's looking to harm the Inquisition?" she asked.

"That would be my guess," I replied.

"So, we're taking the word of some dishwasher that this 'Baddie' is worth our time?"

"And asking a Chantry chambermaid whether or not that's a wise course of action, all in one meeting."

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Your Worship. You're absolutely right," Harding stammered, and she just looked so ashamed of herself than I grabbed her hand across the table and squeezed it, giving her a fond smile.

"It's okay, Harding, really. I mean, weren't you a shepherd or a cattle hand or something two months ago? That's not the first thing that comes to my mind when I read your reports, either. But they are the first reports I look at, because I know the information I'm getting there is solid. So, take this chambermaid's word for it – the Jennies know what they're doing."

There was a nearly tangible silence as both Harding and Cassandra looked at each other to see who was going to ask the obvious question first. I gave them a moment or two before sparing them the embarrassment.

"Fine, since you won't ask, I'll tell you. There was once a lay brother who travelled around the Ferelden chantries doing some accounting work. Apparently, word had been getting around the Chantries that he was up to no good, so the Jennies asked me if I knew anything about it. I asked around, and it seemed he had an eye for teenaged elven girls, and was always asking if he could get the really young ones taking care of his room when he visited. I relayed this to the Jennies, and the following month we got a different accountant. I don't know what happened to the creep, but I do know that little Nyla had quite the grin on her face when she received a package tied off with a red bow that held a human finger, and a note saying that nine other girls were receiving similar gifts."

This seemed to calm Cassandra and Harding, and we decided to take the bait and go see exactly what kind of 'baddie' had a problem with the Inquisition. Harding still had some work to do for Leliana, so we decided to take the other sure-shot dwarf, plus Solas along for the trip.

The clues were easy enough to track, at least with Cassandra's knowledge of the city. When we got to the last one, it led us to a villa a few kilometers northeast of town. We got there shortly after sundown, and were immediately accosted by a half-dozen guards, who truly had no business being guards for someone with aspirations of provoking the Inquisition into a fight. From there we walked through a gate into a courtyard, only to find some mage throwing fire spells and Orlesian swear words at us. Solas had just put a barrier up on the four of us when an arrow seemingly came out of nowhere, slamming into the mage's eye socket, killing him instantly.

We rushed into the courtyard, looking for the sharpshooter, when I heard an all-too familiar voice call out to us.

"Oi, Inquisition. That was him. I'm coming down now, all friendly-like, yeah?"

I chuckled, and motioned to the others to stand down.

"Right. Well, you follow the notes well enough. Glad to see you're…"

"Hi, Sera," I said.

If you ever see a Wicked Grace game and Sera's at the table, jump in. I don't think she's ever had a thought in her life that hasn't broadcast itself to the Maker and everyone five times before she got it out of her mouth. When she saw me, she was confused. Then, after screwing up her face a bit, she seemed to understand what was going on.

"Nessa? You joined this thing, too, then? Where's the Herald?"

I showed her the mark on my hand, and her face fell immediately.

"Oh, no. No no no no no. This isn't how it's supposed to be at all. The Inquisition's supposed to save the world, right, and you've got Nessa bloody Ghilani as your Herald? Just-no."

"Is there something wrong with the Herald?" Cassandra asked. Sera shot her a dumbfounded look.

"No, there's nothing wrong with her, really," she said. "But this hole in the sky, that's – big. And she's just, you know, Nessa. I mean, she's the tits with a shiv, and she's bloody fantastic in the sack and all, but – ugh."

Did I mention she has no filter?

"Would you mind, er, giving us a moment?" I asked the others. They backed away slowly through the gate, Cassandra giving her best disapproving grunt, and Varric muttering something about "I'm sure there's no story there or anything." Once they were out of earshot, I rounded on Sera.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. "Weren't you supposed to be in Highever?"

"I was," she said, "but then the Jenny in Verchiel got up the duff and didn't want to play no more, so I wound up in Orlais. Then the whole world goes to shite, I hear the Inquisition's going to fix everything and they're in Val Royeaux, so I drop everything to meet them and it's just, you know, you."

"Yeah, it's me. I didn't ask for it, but here I am. Plus, the shems all call me "Your Worship" and shit, so it has its perks," I replied

"Still bitter about the humans, then?"

"Still trying to get the shems to see you as Not That Kind of Elf?"

She glared at me for a moment or two, and, honestly, I glared back. We never really had anything, she and I, the sex was more out of convenience than anything else. Then there was a sound in the distance, and she got a worried look on her face.

"Shite! That'd be the reinforcements, then," she stage-whispered.

"How many?"

"'bout a dozen or so. But I nicked their breeches."

"Not their swords?"

"Wait'll you see 'em. No breeches!"

I sighed, and ran to get the others. We dispatched this round of goons in about three minutes with Sera's help, and, to be fair, watching these hapless shems run around bare-assed trying to fight was pretty funny. We looted the bodies (not much on them, which I guess speaks to how much Ser Dead Guy was paying his security), I gave Sera a few sovereigns for the breeches, because stout fabric like that was still hard to come by, and we were just about to go our separate ways when she turned around, ran back towards us and grabbed me by the arm.

"Hey, wait up. I wouldn't have to call you 'Your Worship' or anything if I joined up, right?" she asked

"Not unless my parents tell you to."

"Phwoar, your mum's there, is she? She still make that thing with the apples?"

"Can you get the other Jennies on board?" I asked. "We're going to need people with access to nobles."

"Can I get that thing with the apples?"

"You get me the whole Red Jenny network, and you can have all the apple crumble you can eat. I'll have mum get the recipe to Flissa as soon as we're back at Haven," I replied, keeping my best 'Serious Negotiations' voice.

"Yes! You're the best, Nessa. Don't change – I think I like the Inquisition when it's got little people at the top.

I sent her to Harding, who was handling our sudden influx of assets back at the inn. In addition to the Red Jennies, we had also been able to substantially bolster our supply sources, which meant we'd be able to eat something other than nug and turnip stew – a huge win. Put all of that together, plus the cart-load of fabric I was bringing back to mum, and my first trip out of Ferelden was looking just about as successful as that first trip out of Denerim so many years ago.

" _putes de lapin_ " – Literally: "Rabbit Whores." "Knife-ear" doesn't translate well into Orlesian, so elves are called "Rabbit," instead.


End file.
